How do you feel?
by RatchetsAngels
Summary: Counselling sessions are causing more harm than good to the Autobots in Ark. But the shows must go on if First Aid wants to become a full medical officer. A background character gives better help to those affected by the recent counselling sessions.
1. Ratchet's announcement

"First Aid, I have been reviewing your reports and progression lately," Ratchet informed the younger medic.

"And what's wrong?"

"Nothing, but I think you are ready to take the counseling test."

"Counseling…test?" First Aid repeated in a little apprehensive tone.

"Yes," Ratchet gleefully answered with a big smile.

"What exactly do I have to do?"

"Counsel every Autobot on the Ark," Ratchet started as First Aid's optics widened, "Oh don't worry so much, it is almost easy."

"Almost…" First Aid mumbled with hesitation.

"Well, there may be one or two incidents, but hey, that's what shock tasers are made for. Oh, don't look so shocked, back on Cybertron we had much, much worse. At least you're interviewing 'sane' and ordinary Autobots."

"I don't think we should judge them as sane before interviewing them."

"But First Aid, in all seriousness, you must take and pass this test to continue you training." Ratchet leaned close to his pupil. "And there isn't another medic to replace me if I should ever fall. I must pass all of my knowledge into you, so you can be the best medic in the galaxy, and hopefully, a more patient one with warriors."

First Aid leaned in his chair, staring thoughtfully at the Red Cross sign painted on his superior's shoulders; to any mech or femme they were the symbol of a medic. But to him, they were a symbol between life or death, and his future. This is what he was built for after all.

"Sure Ratchet, I'll undertake any test to pass into the medical profession."

"Excellent," Ratchet nodded, "I knew you would not hesitate for a moment."

Prowl heard a knock at his office door. "Come in," he said without breaking stride in his work.

"Prowl," Ratchet walked in front of the Datsun's desk, "I have an announcement to make about First Aid."

"Oh?" Prowl stopped typing and starred at the CMO.

"Yes, it is about the counseling examination," Ratchet placed a datapad on the Second in Commands desk, "for every Autobot off duty is to be counseled at the med bay by First Aid."

"Ah, I see," Prowl took up the datapad and nodded to Ratchet. He brought up the list of off duty bots for this week and downloaded it onto an empty datapad. "I'll take care of the rest," Prowl informed as he handed the datapad to the medic

"Thank you."

Later on that afternoon, Prowl posted the order, signed by both himself and Optimus Prime, outside of the command center. It didn't take long for the soldiers to see this and soon the complaints and groans started to follow.

"What? I can't believe this!" Whined Tracks

"This is annoying, I don't want to be counseled," Huffed grumbled.

"Frag this. I'm outta here. You coming bro?" Sideswipe called to Sunstreaker.

"Yeah, right behind you."

"What's this about?" Ironhide asked

"Counseling, to every bot aboard."

"Ah slag!" an irritated femmes voice joined the mechs


	2. Session 01 The Twins

Session 01 – Twins

The first ones up for interrogation were Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Begrudgingly they made their way inside Ratchets office, or what was the temporary counseling room. FirstAid was seated in front of Ratchet and the Hatchet himself had positioned himself in the corner behind the younger, datapad in hand and pen in the other. The twin's annoyance dissipated into unease as they felt the scrutinizing optics only the CMO could give. They seated themselves, making sure their optics didn't look at Ratchets burning gaze, the memories of their last prank on his sanctuary still fresh in his mind. The happy medic in training starred at them with shining hopeful optics and a bright smile that seemed out of place. The contrast between the CMO and the medic's looks sent shivers down Sideswipes back.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, welcome. I hope your morning had gone well?"

"Its been better," Sunstreaker commented dryly.

"Ok," FirstAid chirped, jotting Sunstreaker's reply down.

"You know, you don't have to write everything we say down. Ratchet doesn't do that to us." Sunstreaker stated.

The younger turned to his teacher," is that true?"

"Yes. Continue however you like though. Its fine," Ratchet replied, not taking his optics off of the yellow warrior.

"Yeah, we're lucky if we get this far, usually by this point he would have thrown his datapad at us," Sideswipe laughed as the CMO shot him a cold look that could have killed.

"Yes, that won't be happening today. FirstAid continue please."

"So, tell me Sideswipe how do you feel?"

"About what?" Sideswipe asked, slightly confused.

"About anything, what are you feeling at this moment?"

"Kinda hungry actually. When I tried getting my energon this morning I ended up having to break up a fight between Sunstreaker and Tracks before it became any messier. Also before Goldilocks over here lost any of his carefully applied paint and I would have had to hear him bitching about that _all_ day."

"I don't bitch, I'm just stating facts!" Sunstreaker huffed.

"See what I mean?" Sideswipe lamented, throwing a hand over his optics while pointing the other at his brother.

"Well I'm just correcting what you said so my reputation doesn't get slandered!" Sunstreaker stated in his 'matter of fact' tone.

First Aid quickly scrambled to change the subject, "Sunstreaker, how do you feel?"

Ratchet felt a cold hand grip his spark as First Aid turned his question to the clearly enraged psychopath.

"How do _I_ feel?" Sunstreaker reiterated, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Oh, here we go," Sideswipe muttered.

"How would you like it if you were dragged without being asked to'counseling' in the middle of your morning energon? I certainly think you would be ecstatic about it, wouldn't you?" he snapped with one scrutinizing eye staring at First Aid.

"I would be honored," he simply replied.

Ratchet immediately knew he said the magic word to piss off Sunstreaker.

"Uh, First Aid," he said,"we're running out of time." He wanted First Aid to quickly go onto another question.

"Oh, right! Now, recently both of you haven't been co-operating, including on missions. Why is that?"

This opened a floodgate of chaos that only the twin's could ensue.

"He's being an idiot again!"

"He's being a hard-aft-"

"-He doesn't understand about budgeting-"

"-He doesn't appreciate fine art."

"His idea of fine art comes from car magazines with half naked females of them-"

"-So I appreciate the human body. So what?"

"I don't think the human body should be plastered all over out room!" Sunstreaker snarled.

"You're so closed minded! Prowl said we should appreciate what the humans have to offer us!" Sideswipe defended.

"I don't think he meant that!"

FirstAid intervened before it escalated. "What brought this on?" he inquired.

"Oh easy," Sunstreaker said, "Sideswipe placed a new poster on my wall."

"Pfft, we share that wall."

"Anyways, I tell him enough is enough and he should find other placed to put them. Like in that entertainment room of ours."

"Right, so they can be ogled by other bots. No way, that is **not** happening!"

"Well stop buying them and we can have actual savings."

"Why should I give up the one thing that I enjoy just so you can have more money to get your wax and polish yourself up like a bowling ball!" Sideswipe raised his vocals defensively.

"What?!" Sunstreaker yelled, close to rage.

FirstAid backed up, knowing he had lost control of the situation. Ratchet moved in front of the younger bot to protect him.

"Yeah, it had turned back to that time on Cybertron. I brought in all the money while you stayed in your 'art room'," Sideswipe quoted with his fingers, "painting all day and hardly getting by."

"That's not true; I brought in a ton of money!" Sunstreaker shouted, completely offended.

"Yeah, when your paintings actually sold," Sideswipe coldly remarked.

"OH THAT'S IT!" Sunstreaker roared, completely enraged and tackled his twin.

Ratchet and First Aid watched in shock as the twins fought on the CMO's office floor. Eventually the shock wore off of the elder and annoyance flooded his emotional sensory.

"SUNSTREAKER! SIDESWIPE! ENOUGH! AT ATTENTION, THE BOTH OF YOU!" Ratchet roared over the sounds of fighting, his voice echoing halfway down the halls leading to the med bay. Both twins stopped to look at their medical officer in surprise, "NOW!"

They didn't disobey and stood up to meet the Hatchets pending wrath for their actions.


	3. Session 02 Bumblebee

Session 02 – Bumblebee

A half hour had passed since the twin's fiasco. Both were unconscious in the med bay, full of tranquilizers to keep them asleep until the first day was done and then Ratchet would deal with them.

Prowl had come by after hearing about this fight and had reprimanded the medic for keeping them under; after all he did need these two for their patrol duty later on. Frankly, Ratchet couldn't give a rat's ass about what complaint Prowl had to say and only pretended to pay any attention, throwing in his complaint every now and then. After Prowl left the med bay in a huff, Ratchet and First Aid were left alone. The bigger mech turned to his pupil with a small smile.

"Good work. Now the hard part is done and it will just be smooth sailing from here on out," Ratchet told First Aid, relief filled his voice.

Ratchet pressed his com-link and called Bumblebee to the med bay. He knew that this would be the perfect time to catch the tired scout, fresh off of night duty.

"Bumblebee to Ratchet. I'm coming," the younger bot's tired reply came from the com-link.

Ratchet had known Bumblebee would be tired by now and easier to question. The sound of the med bay doors hissing open signaled to the two medics that their next patient had arrived.

"Hi Ratchet, Hi First Aid," Bumblebee greeted, his tired yet cheerful voice relaxing First Aid after the previous session.

"Hi Bumblebee," they greeted back. Bumblebee gave a quick look around the seemingly quiet med bay with apprehension.

"What's wrong?" He inquired, throwing a glance behind them.

"Oh nothing, First Aid has to complete his counseling exam and everyone aboard the Ark is to attend," Ratchet explained.

"Oh no, I read Prowl's notice about that," he said while waving his hand nonchalantly, "I was referring to those two." Bumblebee pointed to the twins.

Both medics turned to where Bumblebee was pointing. First Aid gave a shrug, "Counseling. Apparently expressing emotions and thoughts are not very…well practiced with those two."

"It's like pulling teeth." Ratchet added.

"Ah," Bumblebee nodded, "So…are you counseling Ironhide and Chromia together? Or separate?"

"Together," Ratchet groaned. He wasn't looking forward to it later on, but as the human expression went he had 'to bite the bullet'.

"Like the humans 'marriage counseling', right?"

"Unfortunately so," Ratchet turned to First Aid and nodded. Time to enter the second round, his body language told First Aid.

"Ok, let's get to it," First Aid grinned at the CMO's signal. "Bumblebee let's go into the office." All three left the med bay, allowing the twins to sleep off the sedatives. While Sunstreaker murmured about that his paintings sold, Sideswipe gave a healthy yet loud grunting snore and muttered about Sunstreaker being an aft-head.

The two medics took their original places and Bumblebee sat in front of Ratchet's desk. Bumblebee noticed Ratchet had time to straighten out his desk for it was usually in disarray with data-pads and empty Energon cubes.

"So how do you feel, Bumblebee?" First Aid began.

"Oh tired but great," Bumblebee chirped, his body relaxing in the chair.

"Really? It seems as if you're keeping something in," First asked in a concerned tone. He leaned towards the yellow 'bot, a gentle care in his optics. "Remember Bumblebee, you're in a safe place now."

Time slowly passed before another spoke. It looked like Bumblebee was struggling with something internally, as if it were akin to releasing a savage beast from its cage.

"Well, I'm feeling a little frustrated," Bumblebee replied quietly.

First Aid swooped in for the kill. "Oh? Why is that?" he asked.

Bumblebee rubbed the back of his head; a sign of anxiety that First Aid recognized from his psychological notes of body language. "Well, last night I was starting my shift and one of the bigger Autobot's said 'Don't hurt that pretty lil frame of yours'." He suddenly became interested on a part of the floor, his optics avoiding the two medical personnel.

"Who? Who said that?" First Aid questioned. He leaned in closer, interested to know who was troubling the young 'bot.

"Ah I don't want to say…" Bumblebee fidgeted with obvious discomfort, his gaze still avoiding them.

"Who said it?" Ratchet repeated his junior's question with a rough side in his voice.

Bumblebee's gaze wandered from the floor and back up to optics of the CMO. "Nah, I don't wanna tell... I'm sure they meant it in jest," Bumblebee grinned, a forced cheer in his optics.

"Bumblebee, if somebody is giving you problems, you can tell us about it," First Aid softly.

"No no no, guys its okay." Bumblebee paused, breaking his sentence to think about the next thing to say. A slight frown crossed his face.

"As I was saying, that comment rubbed me the wrong way," he began quietly, yet his voice remained bitter and forlorn as before. "You would think that after all these years I've fought beside them that I would earn a better title then 'The Kid'. I thought I would earn more respect then this and I hate being pigeon holed as the cheerful younger bot." Catching his thoughts, his head gave a slight shake of disbelief upon the self-discovery of his identity. "I know I'm a happy-go-lucky 'bot, but I'm a real mech, with real feelings. I can get upset I can get mad, depressed, frustrated," he expressed with a soft clenching of his knuckles.

"So why do you not express that?" First Aid asked as if it were obvious.

"It's not that easy," Bumblebee sighed, fist unclenching and coming to rest on his knee.

"Why not?"

"Once you've been stereotyped into being one type of person, it's kind of hard to get out of it." Bumblebee gave another headshake of disgust.

"I see," First Aid nodded his head as he jot down his notes. The notes would be useful for later on, as Ratchet told him. "You are going to have to change that if you want to be seen in another way."

"I know, I know, but you just get so comfortable with the stereotyping that after a while you just don't bother anymore." Twiddling his thumbs, he stared down at his hands. "At this point if I tried, they would laugh or pat me on the head and call me the 'cute lil guy that's trying to be all grown up'."

"Bumblebee, in Cybertronian standards you are a teenager and no longer a youngling by their meanings." Halting to allow the sentence to sink into Bumblebee, First Aid continued with his small explanation. "However, don't you think that this could be their way of trying to keep you young? To keep you as the figurative 'baby brother' that they can protect and take care of? So even though a lot changes happen during this war, you are the safe-guard against the change. You being the safe-guard in turn makes them feel like they are needed for something more?"

Silence reigned for a few moments. First Aid felt pleased with his insight. Ratchet was amazed by what his apprentice had said and Bumblebee…

"No, absolutely not!" he cried with indignation. "I'm tired and frustrated of being the 'cute one' or 'the kid'. I want that to change and I don't care what anyone else says!"

Ratchet stared in shocked silence at Bumblebee's outburst. "But Bumblebee, don't you think that is selfish of you to think that way?"

"No, I think it's selfish of everyone, including you Ratchet - don't you shake your head at me, I know you're one of them to - "

"One of them?"

"One of the people that keeps calling and treating me like a kid," Bumblebee seethed. "You know Bluestreak is younger than me and he gets treated as if he is older. What the hell is that? It just doesn't add up!" Both stared at Bumblebee in rapt shock. As First Aid was opening his mouth to say something, Bumblebee abruptly stood up and excused himself, saying there was recharge to catch up on.

After the young bot had left, Ratchet was still reeling in from the outburst and First Aid was trying to catch up with what had happened. He thought it was going so well…

"I'm sorry First Aid; I thought Bumblebee would be easier. I didn't think that he had kept so much frustration inside," Ratchet apologized.

"It's alright Ratchet." First closed the data-pad of Bumblebee, knowing full well this session was over.

Bumblebee stomped down to his quarters, silently fuming about the resurfaced frustration. He punched his code in and entered his quarters. When he was sure the door was shut and no one would be around, Bumblebee let out a high-pitch yell of frustration from his vocalizer. He stopped when he heard somebody knocking on his door.

"Hey Bumblebee, you okay in there kid?" came Jazz's concerned and friendly tone. The response came in an uncharacteristically angry yell from the younger bot in the room.

Jazz's com-link chirped. "Ratchet to Jazz."

"Jazz to Ratchet, what's up?"

"Please report to the med bay," with that the link was closed and left Jazz standing there in confusion.


	4. Session 03 Jazz Part One

Hi everyone! Sorry for the wait, as life has been intervening too much for both my sister and I to update this document. Don't worry, this is a two-parter! Means more suspense and excitement in our favourite saboteur's life. And don't forget to leave a review and constructive criticism (if you have any to offer), because reviews are food to our muses. ;)

Session 3 – Jazz

"What's up doc?" Jazz said as he breezed into the med bay, mimicking a beloved cartoon character.

Ratchet and First Aid's optics snapped away from the computer monitor they were staring at and directed their attention to the young officer, who was giving them his infamous grin. Ratchet immediately knew the cogs were turning in this one's head and would have to act fast to keep him in the room.

"Jazz," Ratchet began in a very calm voice, "we have decided that you have been delaying your psychology evaluations for quite sometime. So we need you to help us with something."

Jazz felt the atmosphere suddenly becoming very tense and uncomfortable. Ratchet knew those cogs were at full speed now, thinking of escape routes and excuses to avoid this. Jazz was the type not to show his true emotions, and Ratchet knew very well the saboteur would do anything to keep himself away from those drama-like moments.

"Really?" Cocking his head to the side, Jazz never missed a beat for his plan. "Well, perhaps when I feel in the mood to get in touch with my emotions, I'll talk to you guys." At this point Jazz started to swagger to the doors, which he found to be suspiciously locked.

Jazz pressed the button a few times, not truly believing what was happening to him. He turned to look at the CMO, whose optics held a certain sparkle as his smile grew wider. Giving himself a mental kick in the head, Jazz knew the CMO was clever about predicting his patient's next movements.

"Or we could unplug those emotions right now." Ratchet told him in a no-nonsense voice. Damn, he was really serious about this…

Jazz looked toward the second exit, which was behind the CMO. Talk about being between a rock and hard place. "Hey now man, isn't there some law against holding a 'bot against their own will?" Jazz started with a chuckle, masking his nervousness.

"Probably," Ratchet shrugged, "but you're in the med bay now Jazz and what I say in _my_ med bay goes. Now get in the office and sit, we're going to have a nice talk." Scrutinizing Jazz with optics hiding a certain flame of insolence, Ratchet tried to make a move towards the officer and push him into the office.

Jazz slowly backed up. "Well…ya, but I have work to do now! I still have to finish some reports for Prowl, you know how he complains about those being late. On time and everything; he's a sticker for that." Jazz gave the medical duo his legendary disarming grin.

First Aid felt a little crushed by that comment, First Aid knew he couldn't hold anyone back from much-needed work. But if Jazz had some work to do, he could interview him another day. "Oh…alright Jazz. We can reschedule-"

Ratchet turned around to glare pointedly at his pupil and cut First Aid off. "No. We will do this now and that look does _**not**_ work on me." Ratchet turned and glared at the third-in-command.

"I dunno man, I'm looking at the greater of the two evils here –" he motioned with his thumb towards where Prowl's office was located –"and that's Prowl. I'm just trying to save you some trouble. I'll report to him first and then come back, 'kay?"

Thinking he had won the battle, Jazz turned back to the door and proceeded to press the button to exit. Unfortunately, Ratchet was having a bad day and wouldn't take anymore of this crap. Jazz knew he was knee-deep in oil now when he heard Ratchet's voice, beginning slow and increasing in volume with each word.

"No you won't, you miserable little slagger." Ratchet flexed his arm, wishing he had some projectile to throw at Jazz's daft head. "Just like that time when we left Cybertron, you were the last in line and you timed it perfectly because you knew there was a Decepticon attack coming soon!" His tone soon resembled Megatron's when he was putting down his troops. "You were able to escape that CPU check up, but not now and _not _today! By Primus or Unicron alone, you **will** be counseled today! Now get in there!" He pointed to the office with one finger and dragon-like optics.

"But Ratchet, Prowl-" Jazz tried to say again but never finished his sentence.

In a flash Ratchet had Jazz in the office by force. Jazz realized for the first time why Ironhide respected the medic's strength. It wasn't what the CMO had shown over the millennia but what he had kept in secret.

"Sit," Ratchet ordered. Jazz complied, not wishing to have further surprises bestowed on him.

"Now First Aid, you can begin." Ratchet closed the office door and settled himself beside it. Jazz noted a twitch in Ratchet's normally serene mouth, as if he were enjoying this to some sadistic level.

"Okay. Jazz, thank you for being here," First Aid chirped. When no verbal reply came from Jazz the younger continued. "So tell me, how do you feel?"

"Well considerin' all the good weather we've been having lately and winning the battle against the 'cons the other day, I'd say that I'm feeling pretty good," Jazz replied in a lazy tone, leaning into the chair. He decided that if so be it, he might as well be comfortable.

"Liar," Ratchet muttered by the door, glaring at the black and white mech with his arms crossed. Ratchet was really fuming about the appointment in the past, Jazz wondered if he was going to bust a wire in his CPU soon.

First Aid continued, ignoring Ratchet's remark. "But the other day you were severely hurt by one of the cone heads…"

"Dirge," Jazz stated point blank. The mention of that devil made his head throb in pain from where Dirge's fist hit. He was still counting the seconds that he was thankful that it was not fatal.

First Aid jotted a note on the datapad and then stared back at Jazz. "Ah yes, Dirge. How does that make you feel?"

"Like slag." A shuffle from Jazz made First Aid stare at his feet. Interesting. Did Jazz shuffle his feet whenever he was uncomfrtoable, like a twitch?

"It wouldn't be your first 'con related injury, would it?" First Aid continued, obviously trying to ignore the feet,

"And it won't be the last," Jazz stated while he began to focus on something far away. Shuffle, shuffle.

While the interview was being conducted, Ratchet took notice of the same thing that First Aid discovered moments ago. When did Jazz shuffle his feet like that? He never used to do it before. However, Ratchet just wished Jazz would quit the nasty twitch and pay attention to the interview. The saboteur was showing the signs he gave when something was not going his way or he was getting bored - that was not productive in a therapy session which required attention.

"What are you thinking about right now Jazz?" First Aid inquired.

"Same old, same old," Jazz replied simply, resting his optics on the young medic.

"So you think you're fine. Even after all those vicious battles?" First Aid pressed. Nobody could be 'fine' after being hit in the head and having their spark nearly torn out. It was not possible to even be fine after those millions of years being at war, never knowing when their time may come and leaving unfulfilled wishes behind in life.

"Yup, I've never been better," Jazz flashed a weak grin. Ratchet knew there was always something up with this one; the grin just supplied more evidence to his case against Jazz and his pseudo-sanity.

"Wasn't it you who said that even the smallest of battles can have certain effects on 'bots. Or are you excluding yourself from that group?" Ratchet piped up, deciding that perhaps having a taste of his medicine will make Jazz vomit up more fact than fiction.

Taken aback by the elder's rather sudden statement, Jazz turned around to reply directly at the questioner. "Of course not," he explained with slow caution, "but I've learned with vorns of experience how to not let the battle follow me back into the base."

"Maybe and maybe not, Jazz. I've seen for myself that you have hit certain lows. Do you want to talk about them?" Ratchet asked with a foreign softness in his usual steel-like voice.

Silence reigned in the med bay, neither exchanging words for long moments. Ratchet was not new to this game. He had played this many times and with many different mechs and femmes, Ironhide being the worst. Jazz looked internally conflicted. His faceplate was twitching slightly; as if he had a problem accepting help.

"Jazz?" First Aid broke the silence after a while. "What about those times on Cybertron?" Pulling up some 'better days' might make the saboteur explain his feelings and thoughts easier.

"What about hem?" Jazz perked up at the statement. This was going to be troublesome…

"Even then you have the same persona. You seem to be avoiding something," Ratchet cut in before First Aid said anything else.

"What's it to you?" Jazz grumbled as he crossed his arms.

"Well, we'd like to help you face it and get over it," First Aid hastily intervened while trying to keep it peaceful. "That is the point of this counseling after all."

Jazz seemed to consider the medic's statement for a moment. The visor glinted from the indoor lighting. "Well being in Special Operations on Cybertron, you were always on the run," he drawled out a loose yet tight voice. "One moment you are on 'con side, catching all the information needed for the resistance. The next moment you are back at Autobot Headquarters trying to rest up, while learning more new information from your superiors about your next mission. We weren't given much time to 'catch our breath' so to speak," Jazz shrugged.

"Tell me Jazz, were you close to anyone?" First Aid asked.

"Yeah, of course. You kinda grow close to the 'bots you work with." Nostalgia was creeping back into his CPU; some of his best times in life were spent with his comrades during their off-duty.

"Like whom?" There was silence and First Aid continued. "Jazz, whatever you say here is strictly confidential and will never leave here."

This verbal announcement seemed to ease the black and white saboteur. He relaxed more into his chair and stared at the ground. Meeting optics of others was not a good thing while he was telling this story.

"She really didn't have a name," he said quietly. "She was only known as The Boss."

Ratchet's head perked up at this statement. "You mean the Head of Special Ops during the Great War?" Ratchet inquired.

"Yeah. Her and I, we were both spark mates."

To be continued...

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Part two will be uploaded tomorrow! Send in those reviews fast!


	5. Session 03 Jazz Part Two

First Aid took down his notes; his interest was quickly rising from the meeting. This was a story that had never been told in a long time and he wanted to write all this information before it was lost again.

Ratchet's interest was already piqued; he had known The Boss during the war. She was actually one of his first patients when he became the CMO of the Autobots and was notoriously well known for her sassy behaviour and sharp wit.

"We both met when I began training," Jazz narrated. "See, back then it was not the easiest thing to be a part of the Special Ops. Only one in every seven hundred bots could make it into this unit. It wasn't how you were built, exactly; Special Ops depended more on how much your spark and mental processors could take everything. The stress involved was a day to day occurrence."

Pausing slightly in his story, Jazz began to shuffle his feet in uncomfortable silence. The nasty twitch was back on Ratchet's faceplates but he decided to keep quiet while Jazz figuratively spilled his guts out. "Traitors were found almost constantly among the ranks. There were certain 'bots that I trusted to watch my back but… I just wasn't able to with some of the other 'bots. Most of the ones I didn't trust turned out to be traitors. On missions I would have to be carefull, because you could be deceived by some of your comrades and be given over to the Decepticons. It happened a few times to other Autobots on those missions…we were never able to get them back." A haunted and faraway look passed over Jazz's face as he reminisced. "You couldn't look another in the optics as well; it was dangerous to do so."

"Why?" First Aid inquired. He felt dumb asking such a question, however he needed verbal confirmation to make sure his suspicions were true. Meeting another's optics was a sign of invading their privacy but also staring into their spark, so to speak.

Jazz snapped his head to look at First Aid, giving him a dumbfounded look behind his visor. "It was the stress. It made one act in a funny way. Made you think the other was looking at you with a traitorous expression. It wasn't personal; it got to everyone, even me at times."

Ratchet intervened to veer this counseling to its original course. "Jazz, how did you meet with The Boss?"

A heavy pause settled over the occupants of the room. Jazz seemed to be collecting memories and the right words before continuing.

"Like I said, she was there when I was introduced to the program. She commented dryly on how my form and method of shooting was not good enough and sought to correct it. After time, she became something like a privet instructor to me. Soon after that we became kinda close." Jazz stopped again to collect his thoughts before moving on. "A few orns later, we moved in with each other and we were pretty happy. We both knew what to expect from each other and from the world we shared in Special Ops. Then…" he trailed off, stopping in mid-sentence.

"Then what?"

"Well she was second in command when the older boss died, whereupon she became known as The Boss. Time for us was considerably shortened; already we were at the pushing point with moments we could spend with one another. Soon we hardly saw each other." Jazz hung his head in a defeated silence, considering his choice of words.

"How would you describe the relationship at this point?" First Aid asked.

"It was strained. We both wanted to make the other happy, but that was turning near-impossible with the war gaining momentum and energy supply running out. We both knew the Cybertron was coming to an end soon." Jazz stopped as a grim and bitter expression passed across his face before continuing. "By this point she had made me her Second-in-Command. This didn't bring positive favor in the ranks of Autobots for obvious reasons. I was called the Boss's Pet; I was just her toy and not a real warrior. She had me as her SIC because she knew she could trust only me."

Ratchet knew the severe responsibilities combined with lack of faith could lead one to give a position to someone they trusted rather than one with experience. However Jazz was well-known back then for his on-the-fly action and intelligence, perhaps too well known. Jazz received mysterious death threats because of his powerful position and causing others to believe the future of the Special Operations hung in the hands of a boy-toy instead of a smart mech.

"She didn't even tell me personally before doing this. All the responsibilities were suddenly thrown at me, as well as the anger from my colleagues being projected at me. Yet despite all of this I still loved her and this confused me the most." Looking wistfully at the floor, Jazz shuffled his feet once more. "Everything that was going on… it just didn't make any sense to me. I do regret one thing even to this day… that I didn't show her my love quite enough and I think she needed it without actually saying so. I was so stupid and caught up in my own anger to even realize what was going on with her… with us.

"We started to argue constantly, mostly over plans about the troops, the supplies and time. While she acted more on long-term plans, mine were more short-term and not very well thought out. I was young and stupid.

"I was arguing with her before she left on another mission, something about her absences becoming more frequent as of late. The last words I said to her before she left was, 'When you get back, we're going to have a talk.' That was it, the last time I talked with her. I never even showed an ounce of love at that moment…just my stupid, idiotic anger." Jazz finished the story with a long sigh, filled with the forgotten pain and loneliness.

"What happened to her?" First Aid asked. Breaking this silence was not easy to any of them, but it was important to do so before Jazz simmered in his negative feelings and let them take-over his psyche.

"We don't know. She simply went MIA, along with her crew aboard _The Odyessy_," he explained dully.

Ratchet's spark gave a strain of understanding to the saboteur; he too lost a friend aboard the voyage that went missing a few days after it departed from Cybertron. The mission was to find new sources of energy on distant planets, but it ended in failure and disappointment.

Shuffling his feet once more, Jazz continued his story. "Soon after I became known as The Boss, but I changed that. I wanted to be simply known as Jazz instead of that title. I thought it should die with her; she knew how to run the show, knew everyone that lived in 'her house'. When she died something in our 'house' died as well… So that was it."

"How long have you been thinking about this Jazz?" Ratchet asked while clearing his vocalizer.

"Almost everyday since that time." Jazz stared back at his comrades with a bitter grin, showing that he had never forgotten that special person in his life.

"Why don't you ever talk about it?" Ratchet asked again, sad at his friend's lack of communication. Why hadn't he spoken up about it? Was there a lack of trust that should have been there after spending years together?

"Unless there is information on what happened on that day to her and the crew, then nothing is going to help and there is no real reason to bring it up," Jazz summarized his feelings of the subject in a resigned voice. Changing the past would never happen, not for all the time machines or wishes out in the vast universe, as Jazz thought.

First Aid felt conflicted with seeing the reasoning behind this idea, but having the inability to help his friend. He thought being a medic meant he could cure even the toughest challenges and make everything better. For this train of thought of despair, he was at loss. He knew Jazz made up his mind a long time ago with the tragedy and no amount of feel-good hope would drag him back from the thought.

Shuffling his feet from the silence, Jazz stood up and stared at both of the medics inside the room. "Now if you don't mind me gentlemen, I have some reports to give in." Pivoting around the chair and marching to the door, which was finally unlocked, Jazz exited the room and leaving a heavy feeling of depression inside the room.

Ratchet cleared his vocalizer again while heading to a cabinet on the right side of the room. Pulling out a small bottle along with two glasses, he asked First Aid if he would like some high grade before they called their next patient.

First Aid shook his head in no thanks and closed the data pad containing the information on Jazz's session. Some things were never meant to be experienced; drinking high-grade after a sobering tale was too distasteful in his opinion.


	6. Authors Note

Thank you for all of your reviews! It is much appreciated. I'm sorry to say that my sister and I won't be updating until the beginning of summer. Work and school have swamped us and we don't have any time or energy left to write. Although I will leave you with this little bit of information; the next one up is Bluestreak. So all those Bluestreak fans, your favorite Mech is up next 


	7. Session 04 Bluestreak

Turning on a datapad full of names of potential candidates, Ratchet carefully sifted through the list, scrutinizing each name. First Aid heard him muttering about Hound was too cooperative and that Huffer was too whiny, before he heard Ratchet hum a confirmation and calling the lucky contestant for their sad, twisted game of a test.

"Ratchet to Bluestreak."

"Hey doc, what's up?" Bluestreak's cheerful voice answered. Currently pacing down the hallway to the recreational room, Bluestreak was ready to unwind after a long day of boring, minutia tasks.

"Please report to the med bay." Ratchet turned to look at First Aid with grim optics as he closed the link. "Be careful with him. This one has major abandonment issues. It took me vorns to get him into a stable state."

"Maybe we shouldn't do this then?" First Aid said with hesitancy in his voice. Bluestreak was too nice for even someone like Ratchet to hit, unless there was good reason for the action.

Ratchet shook his head, declining First Aid's suggestion. "No, everyone on board the Ark has to attend, even Prime. We all have issues, but that is what this is about." He gestured to the table and chairs where the action took place. It seemed peaceful and innocent at the moment, but First Aid was beginning to realize there was more trouble in the CPUs of all the Autobots than he wanted to know. **Primus**, he thought, _that means then_…

"So…I have to counsel you?" he asked, as though he was to be facing a gruesome challenge.

"Yes," Ratchet replied in a clipped tone, as though he didn't want to. Nevertheless, his apprentice needed to fulfill all of his exams before jetting out to the wild world of robotic medicine and science.

"Yo, I just passed Jazz, what's up with him?" Bluestreak's voice broke the somewhat tense conversation. Almost skipping into the med bay, he stopped in front of the two Autobots, destroying the awkward atmosphere inside.

"Ah, Bluestreak. Welcome." Ratchet greeted with a smile, clasping his hands behind his back. He knew Bluestreak since he was a youngling, barely knee high but was a handful of mischief and excitement.

"So, what's up?" Bluestreak asked, becoming a little impatient by the silence, although he would never admit to Ratchet.

"Counseling," Ratchet said the one word that sent cold fear and anxiety through Bluestreak.

As if being thrown into a pool of freezing water, Bluestreak's optics became wider and brighter, and he inadvertently stepped backwards to the door. Flashbacks of counseling with Ratchet were racing through his CPU, causing him to start babbling words in a broken yet fast speech pattern.

"Counseling… b-b-but that was done with! I thought we had finished this. You said no more…no more," Bluestreak whispered all the while backing into the exit.

"It's for an exam," Ratchet sighed at the younger bot's reaction. He had hoped that the drama could have been avoided, even after millions of years worth of rest; seemed like life enjoyed handing out dramatic situations to everything in the universe.

Bluestreak turn his head from First Aid to Ratchet. He knew First Aid was trying to do some good and complete his exam, but there was a one key factor that wouldn't allow him to cooperate with this situation.

"But Ratchet you promised - and promises are not supposed to be broken, ever!" Rage was now filling his spark, causing him to draw in bigger amounts of oxygen through his vents, to cool down his overheated systems.

"Alright Bluestreak," Ratchet nodded with a certain note of finality, and then walked over to the wall behind the mech.

"Bluestreak, please? For me?" First Aid asked catching the sniper's attention away from the CMO.

Neither paid any attention to the elder's ruffling through the cabinets, both thinking Ratchet was finished trying to make Bluestreak work with them and answer the questions. They were wrong. They both forgot the well-known fact that Ratchet is a determined prick and never gave up when he is on a mission. And this was a mission in his mind: to complete First Aid's training.

Both First Aid or Bluestreak didn't suspect what was coming next. Between the younger bots conversation, they heard a pleased sound coming from the medic as he lifted something from the cabinets. First Aid was listening to Bluestreak as his teacher came back their way, walking directly behind Bluestreak. Before First Aid had time to compute what had happened, he saw Ratchet holding a limp youngling in one arm and tossing away a used needle into the garbage.

"Simple, easy, soundless." Ratchet smiled at the shocked expression of his apprentice.

Groggily waking up, chained on a berth with energy handcuffs, Bluestreak heard a shuffle behind him followed by a soft murmur.

"…sounds like…awake…begin?"

Another voice followed, this one had a harder tone to it however. "Yes, it may be good while he isn't all there, extract more answers from him."

_Dear Primus_, Bluestreak thought, _I'm with the Decepticons! I'm a prisoner!_

Fighting against his bonds with a renewed vigor, Bluestreak grunted as he was reaching the edge of the berth. 'Almost there, almost there!' his guardian voice encouraged.

"Oh, no you don't!" the harsh voice intoned, pushing him back into the middle of the berth. "You're staying there, Bluestreak, and you are not leaving anytime soon under my watch!"

Trying to speak yet realizing his vocalizer was turned off, Bluestreak was caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Bluestreak, it's alright. You can calm down now. Ratchet and I won't hurt you." First Aid's voice seemed to sooth the younger sniper, who was beginning to stop kicking and struggling against his energon bonds.

When Bluestreak stopped trying to escape and the panic erased from his body, he was able to come back into focus with the world around him.

"Thank you Bluestreak," First Aid came into view so Bluestreak could see the smile of the medic's face.

"Alright Bluestreak, I'm going to let you out of these bonds, but if you try to escape then you are going back into them." Holding a finger above the button that would turn off the manacles, Ratchet gave him a serious look that would even cause Ironhide to comply with the CMO. "So, you can act like a mature, full grown mech or you can act like a sparkling and be treated as one. Your choice." Ratchet loomed over the younger in a very threatening way, but it was enough to get Bluestreak to submit to his will.

Slowly nodding his head, Bluestreak was released from the berth and led into the office. As he sat down he began to raise emotional defense walls that he had built years ago. It wouldn't allow anyone (besides the mind-reading Soundwave) to prod through his mind or allow them to affect his behavior or will. Ratchet mentally slapped his forehead with his palm, realizing the all-too-familiar patterns that he displayed before he became a monster to deal with.

"Bluestreak, I'm sorry, but you have to go through this now," First Aid said while sitting down. Collecting a datapad in one hand and a pen in the other, he marked the entry for Bluestreak and prepared for what kind of interview it would become.

"I'm sure," he replied to First Aid in a snide tone with a curled lip.

A disapproving noise directed at Bluestreak came from Ratchet, as the elder stared at the sniper. Bluestreak looked back at Ratchet quickly before crossing his arms and closing his mouth.

_So he's chosen to be the sparkling_, Ratchet thought as he narrowed his optics.

"Bluestreak, how is your day going so far?" First Aid tried to start off in the easiest and safest ground possible. No response came from the patient, only a stubborn look emanated from Bluestreak.

"How was your shift last night, uneventful?"

Silence.

"Okay…well, you had the shift with Prowl and Jazz, how was that?"

No response.

"It must have been fun. Jazz is always talking about new T.V commercials, items and events going on while Prowl gets him back by talking about earth history or with something of substantial value." First Aid feigned a smile for the younger bot, but it was brushed aside by his next expression.

Bluestreak screwed his face plates up a little in annoyance and looked away.

"Bluestreak, you'll have to speak sometime," First Aid sighed.

Bluestreak turned to give the medic a disbelieving look. Ratchet sighed, he knew this side of the young mech; it was the side he had dealt with for the first vorn after meeting him.

"Alright, maybe not. I heard about that prank you helped Sideswipe with, it was pretty funny. I'm sure Gears, Mirage and Powerglide did not enjoy that canyon very much. Especially with silly string and rotten eggs being involved." First Aid chuckled a little but still Bluestreak gave no physical indication of hearing his words.

Seeing that this was going nowhere slowly, Ratchet gave his apprentice a nudge to grab his attention. He leaned over and whispered something to first Aid and this made Bluestreak form a suspicious look. First Aid nodded and turned to look at Bluestreak with a whole new serious expression.

It seemed too early to break the surprise, and anti-climatic in First Aid's opinion, but it was needed.

"Bluestreak, we were going to save this piece of special news for your Sparkday," First Aid began, catching the young bots attention. "Nightbeat found a video recording in one of the old Cybertron labs. We all thought you might want to see it."

"Why?" Bluestreak inquired.

"Because it deals with your creators."

Bluestreak looked at First Aid with wide optics full of surprise and hope; something that Ratchet had not seen in a long time.

"Where? When? What does it show of them?" Bluestreak blurted out almost as fast as Blur's speech pattern.

"It was five million years ago, when the Decepticons' laid siege to Tyger Prax," Ratchet began, his vocalizer filling with a depressed tone as he went on. "Your creators were pre-eminent scientists at a company for energon resources. You were in their laboratory while you were a youngling. Not much can be derived from the recording in that building. However, we thought that you would like to see and hear your creators." Pausing, Ratchet walked to a small screen, pressed a few buttons and suddenly the screen was alive with Bluestreak's past.

Bluestreak starred with unabashed surprise and happiness as Ratchet started the recording. Now his questions about his creators would be answered and why they left him all those years ago! He felt as if there was some sense in this universe after all!

"Here we go," Ratchet announced as he moved back to his spot in the office. Bluestreak let a grin appear on his face as the recording began.

_The recording was very life like, where the two Autobot scientists stood over a crib-like structure. A small youngling could be seen between the two creators; the femme was holding the sparklings hands_, his hands, Bluestreak thought to himself_. He could hear his younger self giggling as his male creator made weird motions with his hands, like he was making funny shapes to amuse his son. The femme let out a warm laugh as she watched Bluestreak. Her laugh was the most beautiful and warming sound the young sniper had ever heard. The mech stopped the hand gestures as a sound blared from off screen. He left the recording, leaving mother and son alone. _

_The femme focused her attention on Bluestreak and began whispering something to him, it was to low for any to hear. She picked him up and hugged him close and the next words were loud enough for all present in the office to hear, a simple "I love you". Bluestreak felt his systems halt for a second as he heard those powerful words. The youngling chirped and hugged his mother back before cuddling close for safety and warmth. Silence reigned as both Autobots shared this short love filled moment. She leaned her head back to look at her son, smiled and kissed him on the forehead._

"_Neonwing, come look at this. I thinking I found something," came the excited voice of Bluestreak's father._

_Neonwing, his mother, placed him down in the crib and walked to the mech, the sparkling looking as indignant as possible to become the second rate interest of whatever the were now looking at._

"_That is amazing! This could help our troops and stop Megatron! See, Aeon, you can now grow up in a war free Cybertron!" Neonwing cried excitedly as she nearly bounced back to her youngling who was giggling and bouncing like his mother._

"_Yes, he can. We all can get back to our lives now!"_

"_Oh, Lockdown, I can't believe this! It is almost too good to be true." She cried out in joy. _

_Bluestreak wondered what invention his creators had made that would be so beneficial to the Autobots. Neonwing picked Bluestreak/Aeon up and danced around the alcove where he had been placed. The little youngling giggled all the time as Neonwing carried him around in circular motions. His male creator walked back on screen and Bluestreak could see his father bearing a huge grin that would put Jazz to shame._

"_We did it!" Neonwing called out just as the alarm bells started ringing._

"_Oh no…NO!" The male yelled in despair as Neonwing stopped cold in her tracks as a paralyzing fear ran through her. Even the youngling stopped laughing as he listened to the alarm bells and gauged his creators' reaction._

_Neonwing quickly placed Aeon/Bluestreak back in the crib as she and Lockdown ran to hide the creation before the Decepticons could find it. A few tremors passed throughout the building and screams of every emotion passed through the corridors._

"_Neonwing, quickly! We need to get Aeon and get out of here!" Lockdown called out, "I have the invention! We need to go now!"_

_Neonwing came back on screen, racing towards a screaming and crying Aeon/Bluestreak. Before she could reach him, a larger tremor shook everything. It was closer and powerful enough to make everything topple over. Pillars that held up ceilings came crashing down around Aeon/Bluestreak, but amazingly left him untouched, as Aeon/Bluestreak could remember. Now, however, it looked as if he had been crushed under everything from Neonwing's point of view. Neonwing cried out and ran towards the structure as things still collapsed around her. Lockdown came into the recording, carrying something small. He tried to help take the damage away to get to his son. As soon as he pushed a metal bar back, something caught his attention that made him freeze. A weird metal piece fell out from the smoking debris, shaped almost like a sparkling's limb. Through the loud noises, neither creator could hear Aeon/Bluestreak cry out for the both of them. Both stood in shock as they saw this. It was the father that came back to reality as he heard Decepticons yelling in the background and getting closer._

"_Neon, we need to go now! I'm sorry, but Aeon is gone." Stifling a sob, the mother nodded solemnly as she blinked to clear her optics of the fluids that were collecting. _

_The noise got too loud to hear any more of the conversation, but Bluestreak saw his parents running away, more debris falling around the room before the camera went offline._

Silence fell over the med bay office, the two medics starring at Bluestreak. Bluestreak kept staring at the screen with a lost and forlorn look in his optics.

"All I remember is the loud noises and smoke around me. When I saw them run off … I just figured that they didn't care about me anymore." Giving a wry chuckle, he continued on with his narration of what happened. "Who would care about someone enough to save them if they had an invention in their hands to save countless others? I was an expendable loss on their part. They could always create another sparkling…but never another invention like this. Not until the 'cons got their hands on it anyways…"

Ratchet came close to the forlorn sniper. First Aid had quickly run out saying that he needed to check up on some report. Ratchet secretly knew that he was going to wipe the fluids from his optics.

"There was nothing either of your creators could do anymore. They thought you had passed to Primus and they had to get the invention out. Bluestreak, I'm sorry," Ratchet said softly while placing a comforting hand on the young mech's shoulder.

"I understand," Bluestreak replied softly before getting up. "Thank you, Ratchet. I appreciate this but now I think I would rather be left alone."

"Of course."

Bluestreak stood up heavily from his seat. He was happy to see his creators but now a new type of guilt ran through him. His parents were innocent of abandoning him. His anger and mistrust placed towards that event in his younger life was falsely placed. They had tried to retrieve him from that mess but thought he had died.

He walked through the halls, his head down and his shoulders somewhat slumped. Many mechs who saw him tried to ask if he was alright, others were confused and let him go. The usually good tempered, cheerful and loving Bluestreak was now distant and looked depressed. Throughout that new guilt though, Bluestreak felt himself allowing to do what he had tried to repress for so long. His love for his creators was able to come through. A smile crossed his features as he felt the emotion growing inside of him again. This time there was no need to suppress it.

Once Bluestreak entered his quarters and the doors closed, he let out a sigh. He walked over to his recharge berth and sat down on it. A smaller sigh escaped him before he lay down on his back and starred up at the ceiling.

"I wasn't left behind at all then. Never abandoned."


	8. Intermission

First Aid was giving the wall parallel to the desk a long, hard stare. He searched along its blank metal walls as if looking for an answer and finding none, when Ratchet came strolling through the door leading to where the twins were kept sedated. He seemed to be in an optimistic mood, which felt out of place for First Aid at the moment.

"Come on, I think we should take a break before we continue this afternoon," Ratchet said, leading his apprentice towards the exit. He lightly pushed him out of the chair and lead him along, still commanding First Aid to follow his direction.

"But wait," First Aid protested. Wasn't Ratchet forgetting something important? "What about the twins?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, them," Ratchet explained airily while waving his hand in the air, brushing it aside. "They were too raucous to wake up, so I gave them a little encouragement to allow them recharge in their respective dreams. Besides, we all could use some R and R time these days. They've been busy as of late visiting Prowl and annoying Red Alert. They really need to get their beauty sleep."

Ready to take advantage of the free time, First Aid halted his protests about leaving the two psycho mechs behind and followed his teacher down the hall. Their trip passed without any event, although First Aid felt some electrical paranoia building in him for no particular reason.

First Aid glanced at the occupants of the recreational room from a safe distance. He was beginning to suspect he wouldn't be well-liked after this morning, but was even surer that Ratchet would be drawing all the attention to his presence. Deciding to stay five steps behind his teacher was a good choice, because he didn't want to be caught in the crossfire. Not especially now, when he saw the sole femme aboard the Ark call out to Ratchet.

"Hey, Ratch, what 'n the world is this 'necessary appointment' gonna entail for myself an' Ironhide?" she drawled out while motioning the CMO with her right arm. Ratchet followed suit and made himself at home beside her, relaxing into the custom-made fabric couch and giving a small smile.

"Well, remember the little appointment for both Firestar and Red Alert?" he asked. He felt the body beside him tense before she replied.

Chromia gave a small snort, as if recalling that memory just happened yesterday. "Yeah, who wouldn't? Poor Red got all crazy an' shook up after that... Wait, are you saying…?" she paused, giving a hard glare to the CMO.

"Mmhmm, please be my office at four in the afternoon. Don't be late; you might miss the special prize." Giving a small wink to the femme, he tottered off to join First Aid by the Energon dispenser, while leaving Chromia to fume with her thoughts.

"Possibly the prize includes a week-long trip to the cuckoo house," she muttered sourly to herself.

It had been a long shift for Ironhide, including a full day of listening to Red Alert's suspicions, and he was looking forward to settling down, having some Energon and talking with Chromia. The three events would happen to the two of them, just not in any relaxing manner.

"How was your shift?" Chromia asked, while her spark mate settled beside her.

"Quiet. No Decepticon related activity; our capturing Thundercracker hasn't caused much of a stir so far."

"They're still licking their wounds," Chromia chuckled as she took a sip from her Energon, Ironhide followed her actions. Ironhide would not be shy to admit that talking and laughing with the femme he loved most was a most pleasurable time spent.

"Mm, have you read the board lately?" Chromia asked.

"No, why should I?" Ironhide inquired.

"Well, apparently, we a have four o'clock appointment with First Aid and Ratchet." Chromia predicted Ironhide's next actions with ease: a slap to his forehead and a groan that expelled all his thoughts of the upcoming torture session.

"Aw slag," he groaned, palming his face with his free hand. "Both of us?"

"Mmhmm. Seems they are attempting to conduct another couple counseling like Firestar and Red Alert's, the one that happened so long ago," Chromia muttered with a surly tone. She folded her arms across her chassis and gave a small sigh.

Ironhide copied her actions and turned to stare at her. "Their funeral. We're not going," he stated with finality in his tone.

"Oh yes we are Ironhide." She gave him a hard glare. "If I'm going, then you are. We both know what happens to those who don't follow the doctor's orders, especially _this_ one."

"Well you know what I don't care about what this one says. We're not going." He pointed in the direction of the medical wing and gave a small hiss, as if trying to expel an untold evil from that area. "I'm not going to get some couples counseling from another, especially one who does not have any experience in the matter."

"What are you talking about? Ratchet has a lot of experience with this subject," Chromia said, defending the CMO. Sure, he was a bit of a prudish and arrogant mech, but he certainly knew his subject matter and was one of the best.

"Not Ratchet, First Aid. He's still a youngling to me and he's never had a spark mate before. How would he know what to do or say with our problems besides giving us pre-made answers from a datapad? Those are outdated and hardly true to any one couple. Every couple varies and we are not a datapad text couple." He flicked a hand between the both of them, emphasizing the fact they were anything but a stereotypically normal pair.

"Well I don't know," she scoffed. "Just have a little faith in him Ironhide. He may give us some good advice."

"Oh like what Chromia? When was the last time we actually fought? Just because we're going through a rough time doesn't mean we have to get counseled anyways."

"Why not?" Chromia inquired.

"I've gone thirteen vorns without a proper counseling session and look at me, I'm just fine!"

"Says who?" Bumblebee grounded out as he walked past the couple. Both stared at the yellow bug with wide optics, shutting up the budding argument.

The day had been looking up for this young minibot. He had enjoyed his morning patrol; everything had been quiet since the last battle with the Decepticons. He had planned to come back to the base, get some recharge, drink energon and hang out with some of his friends. That didn't go over very well when he got back to the base. _No thanks to Ratchet and First Aid_, Bumblebee growled in his mind as he stomped over towards the energon dispenser.

He was silently thankful that the only other mech around that dispenser was Jazz, who was getting some energon for himself.

"Hey there Bumblebee. Want me to get you some energon?" Jazz asked in a soft voice. He reached forward for a cube, before his hand was slapped violently away from it.

"No, I can get it myself." Grabbing the cube, he poured a glass of energon for himself. "Just because I'm short doesn't mean that I am incapable to reaching certain heights!" Bumblebee snapped, pushing the energon cube in Jazz's direction as if to emphasize his argument. He turned away too quickly to see a flash of hurt that Jazz gave before the taller mech walked off to a corner table.

Bumblebee stomped over to another table away from everyone. He slammed his cube down and sighed as he sat, glaring at anyone who stepped too close to the angry minibot.

"What's got your tailpipe in a twist?" Trailbreaker joked to Bumblebee as he sat down with his own energon. He seemed completely oblivious to the glare being sent his way by the younger, or just ignoring it.

"Everything!" Bumblebee half shouted to the older mech, frustration clear in his vocalizer. "It's like people bothering me all the time. Always asking if I need help, pestering me, or making fun of me! I don't need help just because I'm short or because I'm younger! I have earned my place in this company Primus damnit! It is time everyone starts seeing me as I am!"

Trailbreaker didn't look offended or taken back by this outburst from his younger friend. Truthfully he had always wondered where this little mech was keeping his more negative emotions like frustration and depression. Now he finally had his answer.

"Well you can either let it get under your plating or get it out entirely. What did they do to you in that counseling session anyways 'Bee?"

"Nothing and everything. I hate them."

Bumblebee stopped with that explanation but Trailbreaker knew very well that the dam was about to explode within this small yellow mech. So he lingered and didn't have to wait very long.

"They kept asking me these insulting questions. Like they wanted me to get angry. Then halfway through First Aid had the very nerve to insinuate that I am the younger brother to all of you. I resent that statement _so_ much and he did not even seem to process my anger towards that statement."

"What's so wrong about being the younger brother?"

"What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG?! It's ANNOYING! I can't break out of this mold even when I try. When I try then everyone just laughs and says I'm just being cute. I'm not very slaggin' cute! Frag, Bluestreak is younger than me and he's treated with more respect! Why can't I have that?!" He rattled the table with both hands, alarming those around him and causing them to move away, some muttering he needed to see Ratchet. Trailbreaker remained zen and calm throughout his explosion, before he offered any advice.

"Maybe you need to shoot Prime in the aft, like Bluestreak did accidentally?" Trailbreaker joked but his joke went over Bumblebee's mind.

"Why do I have to shoot a comrade to gain respect within the company? That's stupid!" Bumblebee nearly wailed in frustration. The type of acts he would have to perform in order to gain respect from his comrades was unthinkable; he would never shoot a comrade, waltz on top of a building in downtown Portland or even dive into the icy river in mid-winter. All those acts – done by Bluestreak, Wheeljack and a highly inebriated Perceptor, respectively – made him internally cringe in sympathetic pain.

"Ya don't have to, Bumblebee. It's just a joke," Trailbreaker guffawed at his reaction. "But then again, Bluestreak did help Prime remember to watch his own back. But I'm just joshing with ya, 'Bee. Trust me, don't change yourself. Yes, it's annoying to be stereotyped, but you know what, it happens to everyone. We all have primary labels that people give us, I mean, look at the twins. They're always going to be known as the pranksters or troublemakers, but in reality, that's just a small part of who they are. Sunstreakers and Sideswipe have their caring, individual sides. But we don't see it a majority of the time because we have these prior thoughts of them, which they insistently act upon. Don't worry about it though my friend," Trailbreaker smiled as he stood up, "we all have them."

Bumblebee watched the older mech walk off, feeling calmer then he did before. An overwhelming feeling of relief came onto him and he settled into his chair, staring at the energon cube with a grin of satisfaction.

Jazz sighed as he walked towards the table in the back. He didn't expect for Bumblebee to snap at him like that, but he didn't care. His own dark thoughts and feelings had started to come back to him and this time he couldn't shake them off.

He sat down at the table and watched his fellow Autobots laughing and talking around him. He wouldn't have any problem joining in earlier on in the day, but now he just wanted to be left alone. He found himself silently wanting to talk with one of his closer friends but they were all on duty now. He had also used up the last of Prowl's seemingly infinite patience earlier on this morning and didn't think his best friend would want to be disturbed.

Jazz looked down at his Energon but didn't feel like having any. He didn't know why he got some to begin with, he placed it off as daily repetition to his schedule. He had felt a little bit hungry before he had gone in to see Ratchet and First Aid, but after the counseling session, he felt more lonely then hungry.

Jazz just continued to stare at nothing in particular and he could feel some of the mechs watching him. His behavior was unusual to his normal laid back and zen self. It was common to see Jazz almost bouncing into the room with some grin on his face and ready to talk with anyone. This time, however, the mechs' were faced with a solemn and introverted Jazz who just seemingly floated by everyone without a smile or comment to give.

He knew that if he went to see Prowl he would probably feel better. Prowl and Blaster were the only two mech's aboard the Ark that knew what had happened. Either one always knew how to make Jazz feel better when he hit a slump about this topic. However, Blaster was currently monitoring security with Red Alert and Huffer - _the poor mech_, Jazz thought - while Prowl was not to be trusted with his patience so low. He couldn't blame the tactician though; the mech hadn't had a proper recharge since the last battle with the Decepticons.

"Hey there Jazz. What's wrong with you?"

Jazz turned his head to the voice but didn't feel any better inside to see Trailbreaker. "Hey," Jazz muttered as he turned his head back to stare at his Energon.

"First Bumblebee and now you. What is Ratchet doing to everyone? Cashing in on those painful I.O.U's that he gives to everyone? Looks like the twins won't be coming out of the med bay then for a while." Trailbreaker chuckled as he sat down. Jazz found a small amount of humor in Trailbreaker's crack and smiled slightly. Neither mech sitting at the table were sadists, but when it concerned the twins and a vindictive or justified feeling Ratchet, there was the promise of _some_ amusement being involved.

"It seems that both Ratchet and First Aid have teamed up to bring all of us down and 'rebuild' us," Jazz's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Ah, that doesn't usually go over very well. I can't believe he's actually attempting it again."

"Attempting?" Jazz gave a bitter laugh. "No, he is doing it."

"I thought Ratchet promised to never do a whole counseling session after Firestar and Red Alert?" Trailbreaker asked with shock in his voice. The CMO was quite adamant of that promise after the most violent break-up had occurred in Iacon; one that had sent a message to all companies within the Autobot faction.

"Well, Ratchet has gone back on that promise when First Aid's final exam is concerned."

"Well…that sucks," Trailbreaker sighed as he took a sip of his Energon.

"Yeah…"

"Jazz, through my experience of being around you for so long…I think you should go talk to Prowl about this." Pausing to reconsider his words, Trailbreaker made sure to compose his sentence as to cause neither damage nor give insignificant advice to his friend. "Even if he is busy, you are in a seriously depressed state. I know he will make time for you."

"You think?" Jazz asked, while lifting his gaze from the Energon cube and turning to Trailbreaker.

"Yes or else I wouldn't be saying it. Go see him Jazz, now." Giving a playful shove to the other mech, Trailbreaker smiled as Jazz heeded his words and rose. Tossing back the remaining Energon into his mouth, Jazz offered a small smile to the unlikely counselor before he left.

"Yeah, I suppose. Thanks Trailbreaker."

"No problem, Jazz."

Jazz breezed by Bluestreak, who was currently seated in front of the television, as he left the recreational room. Bluestreak didn't even pay him any mind as the Special Operations officer left, leaving only himself, Trailbreaker, some minibots and Ironhide with Chromia, inside the room.

Bluestreak gave a blank stare at the television program he was current 'watching'. SpongeBob Squarepants was not as amusing to the younger Autobot as it used to be. The colors that usually entranced him seemed dull and grey after the experience he had just encountered. Even the crazy and nonsensical antics of this cartoon character did not give him any sense of mirth.

"What are ya watchin'?" Trailbreaker asked merrily to the forlorn 'bot, sitting beside him on another customized couch.

"SpongeBob Squarepants," he replied in a monotone voice. All emotion seemed to be drained from this usually chipper and talkative mech.

"So…what's old Spongy doing under the sea? I never understood these cartoons, so you're gonna have to help me." Trailbreaker gave a grin to the younger 'bot, who seemed to be bored and enraptured with the cartoon at the same time. Bluestreak was a funny 'bot at times.

"He just lives this dull existence of stupidity and working in the humans' concept of the fast food industry. He believes he is happy the entire time, but one day, watch out…" a sardonic chuckled bubbled from his vocalizer, "that bubble will burst and he will dry up in that cold and soulless world. A world called life!" Bluestreak almost spat the word out.

"Okay…" Trailbreaker looked between the television and Bluestreak with unease and worry. "Did you pay a visit to the good Doctor and his Apprentice today by any chance?"

Bluestreak just gave an unenthusiastic look to Trailbreaker before turning back to the program.

"Well that answers it nicely, kiddo," Trailbreaker sighed. Giving a look of pity to the mech, Trailbreaker watched with amusement as SpongeBob tried to capture jellyfish with a net. _Now what in the world..._ A sudden idea came to the older mech. "You know, SpongeBob tries really hard to get that jellyfish with a butterfly net, I'm guessing?"

"Mhmm," Bluestreak affirmed.

"Well, what if First Aid is trying to give the best medical care possible but he is ill equipped?"

"What's your point Trailbreaker?" Bluestreak huffed in annoyance.

"Perhaps all intentions are good and noble and-"

Bluestreaker had enough of the feel-good nonsense and cut him off before he could continue, like he had to Jazz and Bumblebee earlier. "I saw them."

"Saw who?" Trailbreaker asked slowly, backpedaling towards reality and off the tangent he was going on.

"My Creators. I watched them on the recordings Nightbeat brought back from Cybertron." Bluestreak turned away from the television screen and Trailbreaker, giving the wall beside him more attention.

Trailbreaker nodded in understanding. "Ah. Is that why you're in such a bad mood? I thought it would've made you happy at least."

"Not a bad mood…just…confused and angry at myself." Shaking his head in regret, Bluestreak gave his forehead a thump with his clenched fist. "I blamed them for so long and for all my issues that led to their abandonment. When all along they thought I had died and they had to get out." His finger splayed outwards in a sign of exasperation. "How could I do that? To impart judgment onto something I had no prior knowledge or evidence to back up my thoughts. I never saw it from their point of view; just mine and I blamed them for it. For all these years I've been harboring such revulsion for my Creators when in reality they had never done anything wrong." Bluestreak looked down from the television and faced the ground.

Trailbreaker decided now was the time to impart some of his wisdom. He used to be a Creator, back in the peaceful Golden Age of Cybertron. "Listen, Bluestreak, you shouldn't beat yourself up about this. Think about it from your view and your Creators' view. They thought you were dead and so they left. You thought that they didn't want to save you so they abandoned you. Now that you know the truth you can forgive them; but you need to forgive yourself because you did not know. Then you need to move on. Nothing good will come from holding onto this guilt. Your Creators would never want you to be negative. I'm sure they know about your abandonment issue and have never blamed you for your bad thoughts towards them."

"How can I be so sure about that?" he questioned behind his hands that covered his face. He'd given up his stoic face and slumped into one more befitting of his current situation.

"Because Creators love their children no matter what their child has said or done. I'm certain that your Creators will never have any bitter feelings towards you. They have probably watched you grow up and become one of the finest Autobots this universe has known, alright?" Trailbreaker placed a comforting hand on Bluestreak's shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile.

Bluestreak looked up at Trailbreaker and for the first time since he left the med bay something actually made sense. Trailbreaker's words hit something in Bluestreak and the young bot gave the older a smile and a nod. "Yeah. Thanks…Trailbreaker."

"No problem, my friend. Wanna go outside and explore this new trail Hound found yesterday?" Trailbreaker asked as he stood up.

"Sure, why not." Giving a shrug and turning off the television, the younger followed the elder to the outside world.

Ratchet and First Aid re-entered the med bay to hear a shouting match occurring between the two twins. Ratchet winced as he heard some metal shriek from it being scrapped against a tough surface.

"You fragger!" they heard the inebriated voice of Sideswipe half yell at his brother. Another thump came from their direction as both Ratchet and First Aid approached the medical area with caution.

Strapped to individual berths, the twins were battling each other with verbal insults as they fought their restraints. So far Sunstreaker had his left leg free and was using it to deliver painful punishments to Sideswipe, who was still trying to free one of his legs.

"Suck on a bomb, you sorry excuse of an Autobot," they heard Sunstreaker reply.

"Frag you!" Sideswipe roared and pried his right leg free, then smashed it onto Sunstreaker's shin. He gave a pain filled howl and then growled out his next insult.

"You already said that, dumbshit. Pick another one." Smash. Thump. Crash. The noises were beginning to annoy Ratchet, who couldn't stand the thought of two gorwn mechs fighting in his med-bay and destroying his property.

"You two, shut it!" Ratchet growled to the half conscious twins. He marched t the cabinents and pulled out a familiar red bottle.

_Not again,_ First Aid thought.

"Hatchet," Sideswipe slurred out, already falling back into unconsciousness as Ratchet provided more sedatives into his fatigued body.

"Go back to the only realm that accepts you peacefully," Ratchet puffed out as he injected Sunstreaker after finishing with Sideswipe. Ratchet swore he heard both twins mumble out 'slagger' towards him before they fell unconscious.


	9. Session 05 Thundercracker

Ratchet looked at all the available names on the datapad, but nothing appealed to him so far. Most were on duty or patrol, or they were on break, however he knew word about the counseling had gotten out and the candidates would be hiding for now. Unless, there was one that couldn't go anywhere or hide from him and First Aid.

"Come," he snapped. "I know who to interview now. It may be tough, but it will definitely be worth the trouble."

First Aid gave a puzzled glance at his superior. "Who?"

"Our lucky prisoner of the week." Giving his apprentice a sardonic grin, Ratchet marched out of the med bay and waltzed down to the holding cells.

Groaning from being rudely awakened from his slumber, he was surprised to find the Autobot medic and his apprentice striding to him. He wondered if they were coming to check up on him or worse, perform some new medical experiment. Hurriedly, he moved to the back of the cell, not out of fear but just a precaution.

"Hello Thundercracker," Ratchet said coolly as he strode over to the cell with First Aid trailing behind him.

"What'd you want?" Thundercracker's gruff voice inquired.

"Counseling," Ratchet answered directly as he placed his hands behind his back. Thundercracker could have sworn he saw a small smile forming on the CMO's face.

"Wha…excuse me?" Thundercracker wasn't sure if he had heard right.

Ratchet leaned closer, scruntizing the Decepticon with a hard glare. He raised his voice in case Thundercracker couldn't hear properly. _That would be irony in itself_, he thought.

"Counseling, Thundercracker. You are the lucky pick of the day for the next hour. First Aid will be your counselor and I will be helping him."

Thundercracker stared between the two medics with disbelief. Out of all the things his processor calculated, counseling didn't even make the cut. Ratchet continued to give the Decepticon a hard and stern look, while First Aid looked a little surprised and nervous. Thundercracker could see that if the apprentice was clearly trying to hide those two emotions with a calm look, he was failing.

Thundercracker looked back at the older mech in the room, "No."

Ratchet bit back a groan, the reared to his full height and gave Thundercracker his best haughty look. First Aid watched with fascination and trepidation as the two older mechs interacted. He made a mental note to never decline his orders ever again.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. However, since that you are on the Ark and you have no other pressing matters, then you shall be counseled." Ratchet would not yield; he never did and he was not about to start. Especially to a young Cybertronian. _They_ would yield to _him_.

"But um...Ratchet…I thought it was just to be the Autobots. Not Thundercracker, he's a Decepticon," First Aid stumbled over his words. He felt like smacking himself for saying that, since it came out sounding hesitant and ignorant.

"You are correct, First Aid, but I thought that counseling should not just be kept for the Autobots. Even Decepticons need to be counseled and I'm sure Hook does not have the time to do this. So Thundercracker," Ratchet brought his attention over to the blue jet, "you are our next patient. First Aid, begin." Ratchet walked over to a desk and brought back two chairs for First Aid and himself.

First Aid nervously sat down on his chair and starred at the glaring Decepticon. Thundercracker had his arms cross and a burning look in his optics. First Aid knew this would be another one with a defensive wall and he wasn't sure that he wanted to do this all over again. What horrors could a Decepticon hide in their processor? He was even afraid to think that if Thundercracker would speak, he did _not_ want to know. _Why couldn't Hook be the one to do this? Why did it have to be me?_ First Aid mentally groaned to himself.

"Begin First Aid," Ratchet ordered once more as he settled in for the next hour. Yes, Ratchet was going to enjoy this hour very much.

"Um…Thundercracker…" First Aid really did not know how to start. He knew that he had to keep a certain amount of eye contact with his patient but Thundercracker was making that quite difficult. The hard look he was being sent by the blue jet made him nervous and very uneasy. "…how do you feel today?" First Aid asked with apprehension.

"Seriously?" he chuckled at the apprentice's question. _How serious can this youngling be_? Thundercracker thought with a touch of skepticism.

"Y-yes, I am," First Aid replied, trying to get his wits about him. Counseling a Decepticon was going to be different from the Autobots. He was not their comrade and the Decepticons held a completely different view from them.

"How would you feel if we captured you? Then forced you into one of our counseling sessions?"

"Okay, well…I can comprehend where it is that you are coming from. How about…overall? About the war then. How do you feel about it?" First Aid started to feel a bit better about himself now. He was not fully stable about this session with Thundercracker but he was feeling better then he did beforehand.

"…" Thundercracker looked over at Ratchet with a question in his optics that First Aid couldn't seem to figure out, but he knew Ratchet did.

"Anything you say here, Thundercracker, will not be passed around to anybody. It is just between the three of us. I can give you my total honest word about that."

Thundercracker looked back at the apprentice. A doctor's promise to confidentiality was his word but Ratchet was still an Autobot. "You're still an Autobot."

"For now, Thundercracker, I am a doctor that will keep his promise. This will never interfere with the war. What is said here will not even be seen by Optimus Prime." Ratchet fixed Thundercracker with an honest and open look so that the Decepticon could see. The CMO saw the blue jet relax very slightly and both of their attention returned to First Aid.

"How do you feel about the war, Thundercracker?" First Aid asked again.

"Relieving."

"Can you elaborate on that?" First Aid gave him a curious look.

"I think that it explains enough." Thundercracker looked away from the younger 'bot.

"Thundercracker," Ratchet held a warning in his tone. One that he personally reserved for those who were being stubborn like younglings.

"Tsk," he looked back over at First Aid, "the old 'Golden Age' government system was a joke! It only worked for those who were high middle class or from the elite class. Everyone else was hardly getting by and everything was going to the Pit. Nobody else cared about us though, as long as they were warm, fed and had an easy lifestyle in Iacon, everyone else could rot in the slums. Kaon was the worst of all and the one that was supporting the easy lifestyles of others. Why couldn't we have an easy lifestyle as well? It was unjust and there _had_ to be a change made. Megatron offered this change and actually brought it to fruition. He wasn't just another 'bot who liked to hear his own voice."

Thundercracker stopped his speech and glared at the ground. Old memories resurfaced like a bad smell. All the horrors he faced as a child, his parents and his sister being hurt in the mines. The death of his close friend that had left him mentally scarred was the most prominent memory. He leaned over and placed his hands on his head, growling lowly at the incident.

One of the supervisors had been overcharging himself all day and had started to harass three younger Cybertronian's that weren't moving as fast, one of them being his sister. They were treated like slaves, even though the government made the rest of Cybertron see it differently. They were paid for their labors though the payment was next to scrap, hardly enough to live on. That's why Thundercracker and his sister had to be sent into the work force so young, so they could help their parents out. It wasn't uncommon to see this though. She was too young to be moving as fast as the older mechs and femmes. He pushed her to the ground and Thundercracker had defended her. He had received a beating by the supervisor for this. No other supervisors stopped him, they all thought the same way about the inhabitants of Kaon; useful for mining and that is all.

When his sister tried to stop the supervisor, he threw her back against a wall. That's when his friend stepped in and tried to stop this mech. It wasn't the first time that his friend and this particular supervisor had exchanged violent actions. This time the supervisor had had enough of him. He stopped beating Thundercracker and took the younger mech, carrying him to a deserted shaft in the mine. He threw him in and took an explosive out of subspace, only to throw it in after Thundercracker's friend. That was the last time he had seen him and the anger he felt still clung to him to the present day.

"Thundercracker?...Thundercracker?" he could hear First Aid's and Ratchet's voices calling his name but he didn't care. He just wished that they would leave him alone. He hated the Autobots and all they stood for. Why couldn't they all just die for all the pain that they caused to himself, his family and his friends?

"Frag…off," came Thundercracker's low and dangerous reply to the two medics.

Ratchet inhaled sharply through his vents as he heard the tone Thundercracker's voice held. He knew that tone very well from this mech and understood that both First Aid and himself had pushed the blue jet far enough for today. Before he could verbalize this to First Aid however, the apprentice asked him a personal question that cut the Decepticon too deep.

"Thundercracker, I know you lived in Kaon. What happened to your family and friends?"

Thundercracker snapped his head up, his eyes holding the promise of a bloody death towards the young medic as he ran at the bars. "FRAG OFF!" Thundercracker yelled out as he grabbed the laser railings.

First Aid jumped out of his chair and nearly fell off balance at Thundercracker's outburst. The stench of melting metal filled the room and First Aid gazed in horror as the plating on Thundercracker's hands was quickly being reduced to nothing. Ratchet stood up from his seat and grabbed First Aid's arm to stabilize him.

"Thundercracker that is enough, this session is over. I will be back later to fix that damage, once you have calmed down," Ratchet explained calmly, not expecting a reply as none came.

The two medics left the holding room, closely followed by Thundercracker's bellow of rage and underlying sorrow. The doors closed and locked automatically but Ratchet and First Aid could still hear the cry from Thundercracker. First Aid was shaken to his very core and wanted to just get as far away as possible from those cells.

"What-" First Aid started but Ratchet quickly cut him off.

"The next time he is counseled, First Aid, be mindful and respectful of his feelings and to not ask about his intimate relations. He grew up in a hard life and I am sure that whatever came to pass with those relations was nothing good." Ratchet still had not let his apprentice's arm go as they walked away from the holding room and down the halls.

"I'm…sorry," First Aid replied softly.

"You didn't know but next time; do not ask about his family _or_ friends. Keep it strictly on his views of the war and that is all." Ratchet finally let go of First Aid's arm when they were three halls away from the holding room.

First Aid was busy feeling horrible over the situation while Ratchet was busy trying to place himself in Thundercracker's position. He knew that he never really could but it always helped to try and understand it from the other 'bots point of view. This is how they both continued until they reached the med bay, where they could hear the slow scuffling of the awaking twins.

"We should use this free time to repair those two and get them out. I'm tired of seeing their sorry aft's in my med bay," Ratchet told First Aid as they entered the Lair of the Hatchet.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

Thank you for all of your feedback. We both appreciate it very much and are glad that you are enjoying our twisted adventure with all of our beloved characters of the G1 Transformers series. This chapter was kind of hard to do but seeing from T.C's point of view, it worked out well enough. His situation could be connected to those who suffered from the inequality lifestyle in their world.

As well for all those who asked about us making Jazz's chapter into a story, yes we will. As soon as we finish up this story (haha that'll be in the next 10 years :P) we will be making his story. It will be set in his past with The Boss and a lot of familiar faces and situations will be making their presence known!


	10. Another Authors Note

Well my sister and I have come at a block, so we're looking to you, our reviewers, to tell us which of the Transformers G1 characters you would like to hear from next and what their 'problem' is. Write a review in this 'chapter' of which character you would like to see being interviewed by our favorite medics. On July 2nd we will have taken the most voted character with their particular affliction and write a chapter on it. Thank you very much for your continued attention, we both appreciate it.


	11. Session 06 Perceptor

Author's note: Sorry for the very long wait! We just couldn't figure out how to properly write Perceptor's session and this is the best we could accomplish on him. We hope you enjoy this chapter! Prowl's session with our favorite medic and his apprentice shall be posted soon!

Session 06 - Perceptor

It hadn't taken Ratchet very long to fix the Twins. The process had been full of the medic's own personal language that First Aid had never thought he would hear before. He even heard words that the Twins themselves probably did not know about. A half hour later, two very drugged twins went stumbling out of the med bay, mostly falling over one another, with the strict order to return to their barracks and stay there until needed. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker just nodded and stumbled towards their room, too tired to care about anything else besides their recharge berths.

"That'll be the last of them today," Ratchet said while putting away some miscellaneous instruments.

"What makes you so sure?" First Aid inquired, staring at the instruments his mentor was replacing in the storages. One of the instruments looked awfully familiar to him.

"Because of the sedative I gave them." Giving a self-satisfied look that only Lucifer himself could maintain, he put a container of sanitizing liquid in with the other jars and closed the door with a confident beam on his faceplates.

"_Another one?!"_ First Aid gaped at the CMO, completely surprised that Ratchet would drug them out even further.

"Yes and they have twenty minutes before they're going to be out cold. So they better be in their room by that time or the Minibots might get an idea to get them back for all the trouble they've caused." Ratchet threw a few dirty rags into a bin, walking towards a desk and staring at the data pads before him on the desk. "Now, who's next?"

"Perceptor, I believe," First Aid answered quietly to his teacher. Ratchet tapped his lip components with a pensive look, before he decided it was okay to call in the resident scientist - and self-proclaimed genius – in for a session. Ratchet couldn't wait to see the look on his face as his pompous friend was brought in.

"So he is," Ratchet looked over the datapad, "First Aid call him for me. I have to finish something quickly."

"S-sure," First Aid opened the comm.-link to the scientist, "Perceptor?" First Aid waited for a while before the comm.-link was given any attention to by the red mech.

"Yes, yes, I am here. What would you like?" came the distant and stressed voice of the brilliant scientist.

"It is your counseling appointment now. Could you please come down to the med bay?"

"Counseling? Was that today? I'm quite sorry First Aid but I have a more pressing matter at hand. You see, I'm working on this project that will help convert earths solar power into energon for us. It is quite a process, I must say, but I do believe that I have got it right, no thanks to Wheel Jack, _he_ set me behind-"Perceptor was abruptly cut off by Ratchets gruff voice.

"Perceptor. Med bay. Now!"

"But I –"

"No. Now! No questions just do it. Now!" The comm.-link went dead, leaving a very frustrated and irritated Perceptor behind with a nasty look on his face. With a huff, the scientist was off to the 'counseling' which he was not thrilled about at all.

"I'm here. Could we get this over with quickly please? My project is very-"

"Yes yes, we all know your projects rule the fate of our universe," Ratchet muttered sarcastically.

"Well, I must say Ratchet," Perceptor started with a chastising look, "your attitude is not-"

"In. Now." Ratchet cut him off again as he pointed to the office.

"Very well," Perceptor straightened up and waltz into the office of the Hatchet, his head held high.

All three parties entered the room and sat down in the chairs. Ratchet already felt exhausted by the air Perceptor was putting on.

"So, tell me Perceptor, how do you feel?" First Aid started.

"I feel that I could be accomplishing more with my time if I were not…stuck here," he said choosing more common words.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way but the fact of the matter is that I need to interview everyone on the Ark. You are no exception and this was the only time slot open for you right now." First Aid stated, losing a bit of his own patience with Perceptor's attitude. "So tell me Perceptor, besides that, how have you been for the past week?"

"I have been fine. I have been conducting experiments that describe that effects the polar energies have on this world and I-"

"No, Perceptor," Ratchet cut in, "we don't care about the experiments just _how you feel_." Ratchet enunciated the last three words.

Perceptor looked visible taken aback, he felt offended by what ratchet had said and the tone that was used. He was not of a simple mind, he did not need to be lectured. His life work was not to be mocked either; it was something many should care about. What Ratchet had said struck a cord in Perceptor and the mood that he was currently in made him snap.

"Well excuse me, Ratchet," Perceptor started in a defensive tone, "but my life's work is NOT something you can easy push aside. What I do is for the betterment of us all. I am very tired how _everyone_ pushes me to the side and continually tells me to 'shut up'. Everyone does it, you Ratchet, Brawn, even Wheeljack and Beachcomber! AND I have even heard _Prime _say it to me before I even spoke! PROWL, even he's told me to be silent!"

"Prowl?" First Aid looked surprised. Prowl is one of the Ark's best listeners, surely he would not be frustrated from Perceptor talking to him. Prowl also enjoyed listening about intellectual matters from anyone, and for him to tell Perceptor to 'shut up' was quite uncharacteristic of him.

Perceptor stared at First Aid, first with a glare and then an almost thoughtful look. His optics gazed into a far-off direction, indicating he was trapped in his CPU again. "Well, I didn't hear it clearly. I'm sure he muttered it though!" He said with disdain in his voice.

Heaving a tired sigh, Ratchet pinched his nose and shook his head softly. "Perceptor, you can't assume people are telling you to be quiet. It isn't fair to them."

"Oh shut up Ratchet."

"Excuse me?" Ratchet blinked in shock then narrowed his optics slightly at the scientist.

"You heard me!" Perceptor raised his voice a bit. "Even when I was younger my very own creators were the same! I was a very small youngling and all my work that I had completed was laughed at. They never held me in high regards and would rather focus on their jobs than I. Sometimes I wondered if I was created out of joy or just to be one of their 'social experiments'." He huffed a little, signifying his displeasure of being relegated as an object than a living being.

Feeling a sudden pang of sympathy to the scientist and so-called residential genius, Ratchet leaned over to him and offered him an unexpected hug.

"I know how that feels," he explained. "I felt like I never live up to the expectation of my creators and constantly disappointing them. I even earned my work-hard-party-hard in the academy as a result of their attitude and behavior."

Perceptor seemed to shrug off his sympathy and felt deflated by his attitude. "Thank you Ratchet, for your five-minute sympathizing story. But I am not one who is easily connected to other with their acts and stories that resemble my own. I believe this has exhausted enough of my precious moments. I do not appreciate being mocked or having these minute sympathies thrown at me. Quite frankly, it offends me," Perceptor announced as he stood up, ready to leave, "not, I bid you gentlebot's a good day."

"Perceptor wait!" Ratchet tried stopping the irate Autobot only to have him whip around with a hard look of his own.

"I said good day!" With that Perceptor stormed out of the med bay, carrying with him whatever positive emotion he could.

Inside the office First Aid let out a sigh and Ratchet slumped back into the chair. Perceptor's words had cut Ratchet a little and he felt deflated by it. It was rare that Perceptor and Ratchet would speak to one another excluding the medical visits and rare battlefield wounds. He had to be honest with him; he did not know how to approach the scientist.

Ratchet looked over at his young apprentice who seemed to be in a world of his own. Ratchet quirked his lip a little before checking his chronometer. A small unidentifiable noise came from the CMO as he stood up, causing First Aid to stare at him with a curious look.

"Forty minutes before Prowl's session. I'm sure Thundercracker has calmed down enough for me to repair him."

First Aid's eyes widened as he looked up at his teacher and officer, an embarrassed look crossing his faceplates, "I…I almost forgot about him."

"Don't worry First Aid; it is my job to fix him up. You clean up the med bay and take care of anyone who comes in. I'm going to go and fix our resident Decepticon guest." Ratchet announced as he left the office to collect a few tools.

First Aid strolled out behind the white and red medical Autobot, "Don't you want anyone there with you? Prowl might get annoyed if you don't."

"Yes, well, Prowl can…" Ratchet mumbled the rest so First Aid couldn't understand but he suspected it wasn't anything polite to say about their SIC, "Thundercracker would feel less threatened and more co-operative if I went in alone, I'm sure. I have a few defensives to protect myself with. I'm not a hopeless 'bot after all."

"I know that sir. Just be careful, many strike out in fear before thinking."

Ratchet turned to face his apprentice before leaving, a smile on his face, "I'll be fine First Aid." The doors hissed open as Ratchet left to pay a visit to Thundercracker and his injured hands.

"Thundercracker?" Ratchet's voice echoed through the prisoner cellblock

"What?" a gruff and defensive voice answered.

Ratchet stopped at Thundercracker's cell and looked at the injured Transformer. Thundercracker sat against the wall with his hands delicately placed on his knees. The pain still coursed through them and Thundercracker held himself back to wincing when they moved just slightly. He knew that it wasn't a very intelligent idea to rush the medics and place his hands on the bars. He wasn't one to leap before looking either, but his anger just over took him.

"I came to repair your hands. At least the rest of your stay won't be full of unnecessary pain."

"Why should I trust you, _Autobot_," he spat the faction's title out with a disgusted sneer.

"Autobot or not Thundercracker, I am a medic and I do not like to see anyone in unnecessary pain. Now you will both willingly and co-operatively let me fix your wounds _or_," Ratchet paused, keeping Thundercracker's attention for a few moments, "I will show you why I am a feared medic and how I got the name Hatchet from our resident twins."

Thundercracker shrank back only slightly, hardening his gaze at the medic. A few moments passed before Thundercracker concluded that this medical officer was telling the truth. Ratchet even had a personal name amongst the Deception's and if their own resident medical personal held a respect for Ratchet, then he wasn't going to test those waters.

"Fine," Thundercracker relented looking at the ground, "I'll allow you to fix my hands."

"Thank you," Ratchet replied and opened the cell door.

Thundercracker looked up in surprise at this. "I thought you would be fixing my hands while I'm still behind here…"

"That wouldn't be very easy. I trust you won't try anything funny Thundercracker because you won't want to see how I got my name." Ratchet responded lightly and with a smile while walking over to the Decepticon.

The blue jet didn't reply to him and let the medic fix up his hands. He felt very little pain as Ratchet closed off all the pain sensory that he was able to. Their time was spent in silence, Thundercracker wincing slightly every now and then with Ratchet apologizing to some. A half hour passed before Ratchet was complete and finally put on the jet's sensory receptors. Thundercracker half expected there to still be pain but there wasn't any. His hands were fine again.

"There, try not burning them again. You're lucky no sensory or wires were damaged, that would have been a long process."

Thundercracker had a surprised look on his face. Stunned and a little grateful at Ratchet, he looked up at the medic, "Thank you."

"No problem. I'll come back later to check up on you. The guards are changing soon so maybe you won't be so bored." Ratchet chuckled as he locked the cell door.

"Huh?" Thundercracker looked up confused.

"Bluestreak. Our talkative one, it is his shift in a few minutes. Until later, Thundercracker," Ratchet waved slightly at the warrior before leaving. A pressure fell on Ratchet as he realized that Bluestreak probably wouldn't be the best of company and his next session was with Prowl.


	12. Session 07 Prowl

First Aid looked up at the hissing of the med bay doors, expecting Ratchet to walk through. However, he was greeted by Prowl's stoic presence and his recently polished chevron. First Aid gave his SIC a smile and received a slight nod in return.

"First Aid, is Ratchet here?" Prowl asked.

"No…not yet. He went to repair Thundercracker," First Aid received a questioning look from the older mech and quickly explained, "Thundercracker didn't exactly appreciate our attempts to help him. He burned his hands when he grabbed the energon bars to his cell."

Prowl paused, choosing his words carefully. "What was the purpose of interviewing Thundercracker?"

"He was aboard the Ark…?" First Aid hesitantly responded and then sighed in resignation. "Ratchet said the diversity would be good for my training and that interviewing a Decepticon would be a good exercise."

"Hmm," Prowl was about to respond to this when the doors hissed open and Ratchet breezed through. The white-and-red mech seemed surprised to find the infamous Prowl, who had the bad habit of disappearing when it was time for his medical check-ups, inside his territory. Something didn't quite add up, or so Ratchet thought.

"Prowl, so good of you to join us. I see nothing has 'come up' during this time slot we have given you," Ratchet greeted with sarcasm as he looked at the almost smug black-and-white.

Prowl blinked at him as he followed the mech's movements of putting away his kit. Seeing where this was going, he figured to up the ante and make Ratchet frustrated, thus cutting their session short. "Ratchet, why would I miss this session? After all, it is for First Aid's exam and I would not disobey any medical orders from you." Prowl replied in a calm and even voice.

Ratchet turned to face the SiC, then hitched his shoulders up and huffed at Prowl. First Aid looked between the two who seemed to be completely oblivious to his current presence.

"Ratchet, Prowl, it is 3:05. We should get started on the therapy session now." First Aid watched the two elder mechs, trying to break the obvious tension within the air. He knew that Prowl had, once or twice to his knowledge, gone against medical order and was currently teasing Ratchet in his face. _Maybe Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are right. Perhaps Prowl does have a sadistic side. _First Aid shook those thoughts out of his mind in time to hear both officers agree.

They all walked to the office and took their seats. Ratchet made himself comfortable in his seat, hoping this wouldn't be a rough session. He didn't know how much more frustration he could take from anyone else. Even if this was Prowl being coy, Ratchet thought he would hit him or something if he began to get difficult for either medical personal.

"How has your day been so far Prowl?" First Aid started, a little nervous that this question would flair something inside the SiC as it did to so many others eventually.

He displayed a candid smirk on his face, much to Ratchet's displeasure and First Aid's confusion. "Very productive, if I may say so myself. Being that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have been…out of commission for the day has greatly helped that. The only problem was when Jazz came to me, upset." Prowl looked over at Ratchet when he spoke the last word. Ratchet shrugged, brushing off the blame that Prowl was throwing on him.

"Were you able to complete your work?" First Aid continued, trying to keep the tension low. He could feel it swirling around the room, its fingers trying to strangle his ease and suck out the air from his vents.

"Yes." Prowl seemed to settle in for a long session. Ratchet gave him a glare as he saw the subtle change in the black and white. _Difficult bastard,_ Ratchet growled softly to himself and looked at his data pad, writing something down.

"Displays an air of cooperation through his internal difficulty," Ratchet muttered to himself as he wrote.

Prowl looked over at the muttering medic, a smile to quick for any to catch appeared and disappeared on his faceplates. His act was beginning to take effect, a score he wrote on his mental tally.

"It must have been a nice day then. With no pranks being pulled or fights being started by either one of the twins," First Aid tried to continue a conversation with his superior, finding it both difficult and nerve wrenching.

"It was." Prowl replied evenly while moving his attentions back to the medic.

"Most of the workload you and the others have been given…has…gone down?" First Aid threw this question out, confusing both officers in the room.

"Yes." Prowl raised an optic ridge at this question.

Ratchet didn't blame the poor medic-in-training. Prowl could be a manipulative hard-ass in many ways when he wanted to be. The CMO himself could hardly make this one talk during therapy sessions. They were mostly filled with a silence and Ratchet had to give First Aid points for continuing to try.

"Do you have any hobbies?" First Aid asked, deciding to venture onto a new topic. He felt that discussing one's hobbies would give some more in-depth answers and reveal more about the person.

"Yes," Prowl curtly responded.

Ratchet activated the private communication link between himself and First Aid. _Ask him the five W's. Who, what, where, when, why._ He shut the link off and bore his optics into Prowl, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his features.

"What type of hobbies?"

"Ones that stimulate my intellect."

"Such as…?" First Aid prodded, silently pleased that he had four more questions lined up, even if they weren't long ones.

"Chess would be one."

Ratchet inwardly groaned to himself. _Everybody_ aboard the Ark, maybe even those on the Nemesis, knew Prowl played chess. He was impulsively being hard towards them.

"Any others?"

"I enjoy going with Skyfire on some of his scouting rounds near the waters."

"Why?"

"To see the aquatic life form displays when they are relaxing or traveling."

"Like the dolphins?" First Aid asked, a smile crossing his face. He remembered watching a dolphin once on television, falling in love with the world's smartest and funniest creatures.

"Yes," Prowl replied and First Aid's smile almost dropped; knowing that he was back to square one with the SiC.

"Well-"the medic started.

_That's it,_ Ratchet decided and cut his apprentice off, "How did you feel when Sentinel Prime died?"

Prowl's door wings instinctively drew back as his body stiffened. A slow, dark look began to form on his face as he looked at the CMO. He crossed his arms and both medical personnel could tell he was withdrawing further into himself. The body language on Prowl had been so instant that neither one of them had been prepared for this change.

"You knew Sentinel Prime?" First Aid blurted out before stopping himself. Prowl's dark look fixed itself on the younger, which drew back at the intensity of it. Prowl didn't stay his look on the young medic for long as it was fixed back to the elder medic.

"How did you feel about it?" Ratchet pressed on, knowing he was getting somewhere and he felt very content about it.

_Maybe the twins were wrong. It isn't Prowl who has a sadistic side; it's Ratchet. And Ratchet made Prowl create his own sadistic side._ First Aid was once again placed as the bystander in the middle of the battlefield.

"I felt…" Prowl started, holding a slight suspense to them. Ratchet drew closer to the police car, knowing any second now that Prowl would _actually_ begin to speak about his emotions. "Sad… but then I got better."

"What?!" Ratchet almost yelled. The medic jumped to his feet and stared down at the SiC with glaring optics.

"Why Ratchet, you seem almost angry that I got better. Is that not what you want for your patients? To see them get better? Or would you truly rather for us to dwell upon the negative things in the past?"

Ratchet could have broken his data pad and thrown the pieces at Prowl in pure anger. He had taken the sudden statement from a very painful point in his past and used it to his advantage.

"But there were those few weeks when the Autobots were without a Prime. We had to stage an evacuation, distribute the power evenly and keep the Matrix safe until a new Prime was elected," Ratchet seethed, recalling those days of turmoil where chaos was everywhere on the base. Prowl was the only one fit enough to oversee operations, though Ratchet thought otherwise. Sentinel's death was a low blow to his morale and faith in the Autobots. Many nights Ratchet had to coax him out of the office and nearly force him to rest and rejuvenate his body and mind.

Prowl's face did not display any emotion as he regarded the seething medic. In fact, First Aid noted, Prowl seemed to have drifted off mentally to a memory. Ratchet seated himself in his chair once more, although his anger did stay. Prowl blinked and seemed to come back to the current reality. He faced Ratchet, optic to optic and let out a slow sigh.

"Prowl, just for once, talk about it," Ratchet almost pleaded and First Aid could hear a desperate tone in his voice. No anger permeated the sentence and the apprentice spared a glance behind him to his CMO. Ratchet did look like he was almost pleading. First Aid turned to look over at Prowl, who was still staring at the white and red mech.

"What could possibly be taken from that time and turned into a positive note, Ratchet. What happened in the past to our deceased leader would not help the present situation. I have already spoken to you, thoroughly, about this topic and I will not go into it again."

"You hardly spoke about it then Prowl. You can't let these things weigh on your conscious."

"And I have not let it weigh me down in any way," Prowl threw back, a slight tone in his voice that First Aid could not make out clearly.

"Oh really? Before Sentinel Prime died you weren't as closed off. You used to be more relaxed and not bury yourself in your work _constantly_ as you almost always seem to do. Jazz has to almost drag you out sometimes on your free days."

Prowl frowned deeply at this and quickly shot back. "There is plenty of work needed to be done." He defended his actions.

"Not always. There is always going to be work that needs to be done Prowl, but when Prime himself has to order you to take time off, then that should tell you something. You used to watch out for that Prowl, to not over stress yourself."

"I still do, Ratchet. I am not over stressed by the work load I am given. I am quite pleased with it. It keeps me busy, productive and the Ark in order."

"You didn't used to be such a hard-aft. I know that your position calls for you to be but you weren't _this_ bad in the past."

"I didn't need to be," Prowl almost glared.

"So are you saying then that the current soldiers are lazier or just worse then the previous one's that have died?"

"Of course not. I trust them all and I believe each and every one of them works their hardest when it needs to be done."

"Then why do you need to be a stricter SiC?"

Prowl remained silent, he knew that Ratchet had cornered him and he didn't like it. His mind was working overtime to get himself out of this without speaking of his emotions to either mech present. He shifted slightly as an uncomfortable air pressed down on his chest. The door was looking very friendly to him but he couldn't just get up and walk out, not on First Aid's exam. He shifted his look between the two mech's, Prowl noted that First Aid seemed sympathetic to his current situation while Ratchet just seemed quite content with himself.

"I…" Prowl started but stopped. He openly glared at Ratchet and both could see the police car held a certain anger in his optics. This made First Aid almost fear the current situation. He wanted to change the topic but Ratchet would never allow it and he was just too frightened at the moment to speak up. He wanted to bring Jazz in here to calm Prowl down but again Ratchet would never allow it and probably nearly fail him for such an act.

"Prowl, just say something about it. Say something about his death or the soldiers that were lost. It isn't easy because I know you grow attached to each of them, even when you don't want to. I know I do and it is very hard to lose them or fear losing them."

Prowl looked at Ratchet for the longest time before saying anything. "It is," Prowl responded quietly, he hated seeing so many of his comrades die. Some probably thought that he went on with the deaths just fine. Pushed it off as a casualty and left it at that. He didn't however and those who knew Prowl really did see that it bothered him when he would let his guard down.

Ratchet, Prime, Jazz, Ironhide, even the twins knew the deaths bothered him. None were going to bring it up any other time because he would ignore it or just get annoyed. Therapy was the only time when Ratchet could bring it up but rarely did, he knew the routine. This time, though, Ratchet did want to because he could tell the stress was taking its toll on the mech. Prowl was coming out less and less everyday, even Jazz was having a hard time trying to bring him out. When he was out he'd stay for an hour or two maximum before he left to be alone.

"Pushing yourself away from them like that won't help. If anything you just see them less and waste the time away that you could have spent with them. If they leave us for Primus, having spent less time with them doesn't ease the hurt in any way. I think it just makes it worse because you have that regret with you about the time you _could_ have spent with them. It is very hard on you, Prowl, I know. Sentinel was your mentor and almost an equivalent of the human term father."

Ratchet knew Prowl was absorbing what he had said. Even though Prowl didn't respond, he felt a small victory for getting through to the silent SiC. Prowl wasn't a big one on emotions from experience, even when Sentinel Prime was alive. It didn't change much afterwards either but Ratchet still wanted to attempt.

"I understand that Ratchet. I will…try to spend more time out with our friends than to avoid them." Prowl considered Ratchet's expression, watching it change to relief.

"Thank you, Prowl. I appreciate that. Maybe you will talk to Jazz about this in more depth than you will with me. I hope that you do because I can see it weighing on you. Jazz has personally told me his own worries towards you regarding this situation. I know Jazz is upset now but I believe that his mood will lighten with yours."

"I believe so as well." Prowl nodded his head slightly as he said this.

Ratchet let out a sound of contentment and looked down at his data pad before looking up at the two occupants. Prowl's face seemed to have relaxed somewhere within the span of their conversation. His guarded and angry body language at the first mention of Sentinel's death had dissipated as well. First Aid just seemed a little lost throughout this session and didn't know where to go now. Inside himself, Ratchet knew this session was over and nothing more could come from it. It was almost the end anyways, the longest session all day.

Ratchet resigned and nodded towards Prowl, "alright, the session is over. I think we completed what we could. Thank you for coming Prowl, First Aid and I appreciate it very much."

"You're welcome. Good luck, First Aid, with the others." Prowl stood up with Ratchet, First Aid following their leads. Prowl left the office quickly and without looking back. Ratchet knew Prowl was glad to leave and he couldn't truly hold it against him.

"Ratchet…?" First Aid looked at his superior with a questioning look.

"I'm sorry First Aid; I will explain the majority of it later. I did not expect him too completely open up or anything of that nature. This is about the same result that I got out of him in the past as well. Jazz and Prowl seem to take care of each other in these emotional matters. I just needed Prowl to openly see that he is actually being weighed down by these things."

"I see," First Aid looked down at the data pas, nearly blank for Prowl's session. It was fine though, Ratchet didn't expect much from this session then neither should he. He got more out of Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's horrendous therapy session then this one. For that reason he was feeling a bit remorseful but he wouldn't let it bog him down.

Ratchet picked up his data pad, placed it with a stack of others and left the office. First Aid followed the same actions and walked into the med bay, only to find Ratchet nowhere in sight. Confusion was clearly etched into his faceplates as he looked around for the red and white mech. A clang came from the corner and he found Ratchet bent over something on a table.

"What are you doing?" First Aid wondered

"Cleaning a spot off this table. Wheeljack left me the cleaning solution I needed for it when we were in the session before. This stain has been annoying me for the past three days." Ratchet replied while scrubbing the stain off.

First Aid chuckled lightly; he knew Ratchet had attacked that stain with everything he had. Hours were spent over that one single stain until Wheeljack fun at Ratchet's anal retentive actions seemed to bore him and he suggested making him a cleaning solution that could remove it.

AUTHORS NOTE:

Thank you for your reviews, we both appreciate them very much :) We have also decided that, like any therapy, it does not end at one on one sessions with groups. We're going to have two more exercises lined up for our favorite Ark crew! So don't be sad if we don't show some of the characters in the one on one sessions, they will make an appearence in the group sessions! Hope you had fun reading Prowl's chapter and we will be coming with more soon. Ironhide and Chromia are the next duo, any suggestions for the one afterwards? Your suggestions will be appreciated!


	13. Session 08 Ironhide and Chromia

Ratchet was happy once the time reached four o'clock in the afternoon; it meant that the real fun could begin. Granted, he wasn't one for the dramatics or fist fights, but there was something enjoyable when he watched couples fight. Especially a couple who were high-class warriors in their own right.

Grinning like a hyena sensing a good hunt, he activated his com-link and placed a call directed to both Ironhide and Chromia. "Guess what time it is?" he intoned with some sadistic glee.

"An oil massage and some highgrade?" came the dry response of the femme.

"No, but you're close. A counselling session. Be here in five minutes." Cutting his communications link so he didn't have to hear the complaints, Ratchet brought his attention to the young pupil and sized him up in his optics. "So, how does one go about with a counselling session with the oldest and possibly most short-tempered machines in this universe?"

First Aid thought wisely about choosing his next words. He didn't want to blabber on like a fool but at the same time he wasn't going to be short about his response.

"Perhaps, we should ask how their current situation is, if there are any problems that can be remedied -and –"

"No." Cutting First Aid in mid-sentence, Ratchet nodded towards the counselling office and fixed a strange look in his optics. "Couple's counselling requires the handiwork of an expert. You can't exactly dive into pool of problems unless you've learned to swim, or at least stay afloat. I'll be leading this next session; you just stay quiet and watch."

If only First Aid knew what his mentor was plotting, he wouldn't have agreed so hastily to Ratchet's decision.

Now, Ratchet was usually known for his good nature, his politeness and above all, his way to stay out of conflict. Actually, his kind (the medical staff) rarely sought for a confrontation, rather they just waited for the injured to come in and patch the broken ones up. But Ratchet was a different case; he rose easily through the ranks due to his courage (some would say stupidity) and his assertive nature. And lately he felt that Ironhide and Chromia were becoming quite like the Twins; finding some trouble and possibly coming to him to fix them up and send them on their merry way. Especially Chromia, she sometimes forgot that she was still a femme and built for speed, not brute strength.

Today would be the day Ratchet had his revenge, where he would break even with the galaxy's oldest couple. Even if he broke some of their pride and dignity along the way.

Taking his CPU off matters that would be resolved in a few moments, Ratchet opened a cabinent and inserted two vials in a make shift 'blow-gun' as Wheeljack had termed the latest (and most useful) invention.

"What is that?" First Aid questioned, half wondering and half anxious about the response.

"Oh, some powerful knock out drugs I made last month. This should put the bull elephants out if they grow to be a handful," Ratchet grinned.

First Aid gave a sigh of exasperation and turned away from his mentor. "What is it with you and sedatives?" he wondered outloud.

"They're quick, efficient and get the job done." Ratchet pivoted and marched to the counselling office, blow gun under one arm and two datapads under the other. "Come along, First Aid; we haven't the entire day for this one session."

Chromia tugged a reluctant Ironhide behind her, marching towards the med-bay with her attitude of getting this event over and done with. Ironhide grunted when she tugged harder than normal, her hand pinching into his metal and wires, crushing them with her fiery temperment.

"Chromia, jus' be careful. Ah'm not young as Ah used to be," he drawled. His unsual Southern accent was laced with a quiet pain.

Chromia paused and let go of her mate's hand, turning around to apologize, only to witness Ironhide taking off at breakneck speed that he didn't normally display unless he was in some uncomfortable situation.

"Ironhide!" she roared and chased after her mate, others making way for the annoyed femme and her retreating husband.

First Aid tapped a stylo against a blank datapad, wondering about the current situation with the bonded couple who hadn't shown up for the last ten minutes. Ratchet was engaged with some personal call with Wheeljack (who had coincidentaly asked if Ironhide was hiding from something) and First Aid was bored to the point he wanted to walk out of the office and find any couple to interview. He didn't care if it was Huffer and Cliffjumper, he just wanted to have his test completed and move onto the next round.

Thankfully the prayer was answered with a mighty bang and grand entrance, revealing Chromia and Ironhide. Chromia stood tall and proud, bearing the unconcious weight of her bondmate being held by his right foot and the body dragging behind her.

"Yes, yes I know, it's quite an annoyance and – oh waitaminute, 'Jack. Gotta go, so I'll chat with you later." Cutting his thrilling discussion off with Wheeljack, Ratchet turned toward Chromia and beamed at her. "A new record, you're actually just ten minutes late this time. How do you feel about that?"

"Like I won some prize. Now, let's just shut up and start this session already," she replied with a cutting tone. Dragging her bondmate to a nearby couch, settling him in the cushions none-too-gently, and composing herself while staring at Ratchet and First Aid with a no-nonsense gaze.

Fumbling for his data pad and stylo while working under the steely gaze, First Aid was trying to remain cool and efficient but was having a hard time maintaining the act because of Chromia's recent display of her behaviour towards therapy sessions. Specifically, the couple's counselling.

Ratchet was well-versed in this sort of performance and had no trouble keeping his head leveled and composed. "So tell me,"he began, "about why Ironhide is knocked out this time."

"Wasn't going down without a fight," Chromia replied curtly. "I think the action explains all the necessary details. Let's just cut the pleasantries and be on our way, hmm?"

Mumbling the last words spoken, First Aid paid a great deal of attention between his elders and the data pad he was recording the session with.

"Excuse me, but is First Aid going to be recording all of the words spoken in this session?" Chromia stated with a cool yet hot voice.

"Yes, is there a problem with that?" Ratchet sighed. _Here we go again, _he mentally groaned.

Chromia tilted her head towards her bonded, then back again to the medical 'bots inside the office. "I think it consititutes a lack of privacy and respect. Speaking for half of the relationship here, I wouldn't like to have the session recorded and rather have First Aid kicked out of here for privacy's sake."

"For your information, Chromia," Ratchet said calmly, "this is a testing session for First Aid's sake. He needs to know about all sorts of counselling before he can attain his full fledged medical licence from myself. I told him to sit on this one and observe how this type of counselling is done before he can go out and practice. As well, your privacy isn't compromised with his presence, nor with his recordings. It is a perfect way for him to learn about the session and what to mistakes to avoid making in the future."

Chromia furrowed her faceplates into an unpleased expression, but nodded in understanding and let the show continue. Tapping her mate's helm, she just sat back and waited for the questions to come.

"What was it like leaving Cybertron and coming to Earth for the first time?" Ratchet asked, beginning with a softer question but would yield results.

"I was a little nervous, I suppose, but I was also happy to be reuniting with _him_," Chromia said this with her thumb pointing over at Ironhide's slowly awakening body.

"How did you mentally...recieve this planet when you arrived?" Ratchet asked, purely interested in Chromia's answers. He hadn't had a chance to truly hear what she had to say about Earth.

"Surprised, I've rarely been to other organic planets before but this was a nice surprise. Hound's reports on Earth had kept us all well entertained and he couldn't have done the beauty of this planet anymore justice. However, I do agree with Sunstreaker's view on the mud that is created by the rain. I don't appreciate getting mud in my tires."

Ratchet nodded in agreement and smiled at the femme bot, "what is your favorite part of Earth?"

"The water. I haven't seen such a large amount on such a small planet. Apparently its more than fifty percent of their total surface. I also enjoy the waterfalls the Earth's land surface has created over such a long time. The rainbows produced by the waterfalls are a nice feature as well."

"They are," First Aid interjected with an excited tone, earning the stares of the conscious elders in the room. He soon became self-conscious, murmured an apology and shrunk back behind his data pad.

Ratchet moved his optics back towards Chromia and gave a smile. "So, what was the main purpose of your relocation from Cybertron to Earth?"

"Oh please, before we even begin, you know perfectly well why I was relocated here. It was because the Autobots forces were losing warriors with leadership qualities and agile reflexes. I was fortunately chosen to come to Earth and assist Jazz and his Special Operations unit. Apparently Mirage was given some time off and return to Cybertron to help out with the femme unit. I'm not here because I missed the biggest trigger happy mech. I had my own personal vacation time during this war, the time spent away from Big Red," Chromia let a small smile form on her faceplates as she stared down at Ironhide's moving form.

"Of course not," Ratchet smirked, knowing full well Chromia's double meaning in that sentence."Now tell me Chromia, are you the drill or the screw?"

"Come again?" Chromia blinked, mentally repeating the sentence over again in her CPU, trying to understand Ratchet's connotation.

"Are you the drill or are you the screw?" Ratchet repeated, a little slower this time. Ratchet waited a few seconds before he saw the dawning realization on the femme's faceplate.

"Oh Ratchet," Chromia smirked as she leaned back comfortably in the couch, "you should know the answer to that question already. Don't look so shocked First Aid, and close your mouth, something might fly in."

Ratchet let out a bolsterous laugh at her comment. The outburst gave Ironhide a final kick out of the land of the sleeping to the living. His optics turned on and he looked around the office, slightly confused. He saw Ratchet laughing, First Aid in either shock or embarrassment and Chromia with a wide smirk on her faceplates, leaning back into the couch in a very sly manner.

"Whut's go'in on here?" a relaxed drawl came from Ironhide.

"Counselling sweetie, so glad you could finally join us," Chromia gave her mate a sickeningly sweet smile that spoke of so much danger to the old mech.

"Well, I'm just glad I didn't have to miss out on it all," Ironhide gave Chromia his own double edged response as he sat up straighter.

"I agree," Ratchet interrupted the small feud between the couple. Both looked over at the red and white mech who resumed his questions. "Ironhide, now that you are awake, how did you take the news that Chromia was being relocated to our base on Earth?"

"Naturally excited, but I was away from her for so long I forgot the trouble she brings with her," Ironhide muttered, earning a light punch to the arm from his beloved.

"I think he meant he was so used to being without the femme company for so long he was naturally shocked once I made me re-appearance," Chromia smugly informed Ratchet her version of Ironhide's answer.

Ratchet cocked his head to Chromia's direction and just stared at her. Finally, he spoke with a calm, authoratative voice, "Chromia, when I want your answer, I'll address the question to you. For now, I want Ironhide's answers."

He inclined his head towards Ironhide, wanting him to continue, all the while hearing Chromia mutter "biased bastard" under her breath. Ironhide just smirked at his mate and kept talking to humor Ratchet and himself.

"As I was saying, I was excited but forgot her trouble. By now I'm used to her behavioural patterns and reactions, like a good slap to the head, her forthcoming and determination. I can say I'm happy about her relocation but I do wish I could get some peace and quiet inside the base, or at least in our room."

"Oh what is that supposed to mean?" Chromia shouted, feeling frustrated of being the topic and not having a chance to speak.

"Y'know what I mean," Ironhide complained. "You keep snoring louder than I do, take up most of the berth and demand to be served in bed when we wake up."

First Aid blinked at the sudden awkward tension that filled the room. _She snores louder than him? So that's what makes the noises from their room,_ he thought. He wrote down the conversation as it was going off the original topic and onto miniscule complaints they both had about each other.

"Oh please," Chromia spat, "I'm not the one who kicks in the night. I've had to hammer away the dents you've created in my shin plates, wax them over and repeat the process the next day. Not to mention you nearly attacked me when I was rousing you from your nightmares."

Ironhide groaned and pinched his nose bridge. "Woman, I've told you before, don't touch me when I'm having a nightmare fit. I can get out myself, perfectly fine."

"Pfft. I left you to your own devices once and you had to sleepwalk until you were in the common room. Then you jumped poor Bluestreak when he tried to help you. Do you know how humiliating and embarassing it is when you harm the kindest 'bot on the base, even when it never required you to do so? Think about your actions, Ironhide. It's easier for me to take the beating than allowing you to maul someone else in the process."

"Then why're ya complaining about it?"

"Because I feel like it! And it's annoying me to the Pit!"

"Bah. That's what femmes are cursed about: they want to complain freely and not take action for their words. No wonder why Prime left you and the others on Cybertron."

"Excuse me?!" Chromia shrilled, causing First Aid to drop his pen and cover his audio sensors. Damn, no wonder why Ratchet warned him once before about femmes being the cause of mechs going deaf at times, having their audio components replaced most of the time.

"Ya heard me! The lot of ya'll would've gotten us blown up or go insane from living with ya'll day-to-day. Hearing your mech compliants would've hurt our morale and driven us to drink into a stupor, rendering us ineffective for combat and having our afts kicked by the Decepticons. I give Prime praise for his decision now that I see why he left ya'll on Cybertron. 'Sides, it was a well needed vacation fer me at this point."

Chromia huffed and turned away from him. "I'm not getting into this, it's so immature and selfish. Ratchet, can you direct this conversation somewhere else?"

Ratchet gave a sardonic grin, enjoying the embarassment and anger from both of the older 'bots. "Certainly, Chromia," he said, voice dripping like thick oil. "Ironhide, what would you consider some of the best and worst times with your mate?"

~*~

The office had a sense of stalled time, like as if nothing had ever changed or moved. The desk was free of dust and bare of anything remarkable, save for a holo-disk that contained the object of his affection. The data pads were stacked accordingly on a shelf, there were a few souvenirs from his time on Earth that were hung up on the walls. A computer terminal was set up on the desk, where he was repeatedly clicking on the same button over and over.

Unfortunately for mechs such as him, excitement was only found on the battlefield, not in the commanding office. And he was constrained to stay inside the office, lest other think he was forsaking duty for pleasure. Those data pads Prowl had written for him were completed and waiting to be read. But he couldn't stand to read another articulate and thorough report from his second-in-command.

If there was something he was paying attention to, it was far away and not on this planet. Optimus mused to himself about the caring and adoring optics he was missing at this current moment.

_Elita..._ he thought, pining over the absent mate. His better half – as Ratchet would say – was stuck on Cybertron and rallying the troops, bringing Autobot rebels together and planning a way to overthrow Shockwave. Unfortunately, it would be decades until that happened, or unless Megatron had a spark-attack and expired, and Optimus could join his mate at last.

Optimus heaved a small groan and reached for the first datapad on the pile from Prowl, figuring he might as well do something productive to forget about his mate and distract him from the boredom.

Glancing at the first sentence, he sighed and pinched his nose bridge. It was going to be a long and detailed report this time.

_Ironhide has requested to send a package to Africa, in exchange for a low grade diamond shipment to construct enhanced weapons to counter the Decepticons –_ Optimus broke off from the sentence and turned towards the door. He lifted himself from where he was seated, deciding that the reports could wait until later and he would refresh himself at the moment. Perhaps some of Sideswipe's high-grade could down the melancoly views he was seeing about his current situation.

Walking over to where the twin's quarters, he was about to lift a hand to knock when something caught his attention from the corner of his optics. Switching to the right of him, a group of Autobots hovered near the entrance of the med bay, looking as if they were going into battle with their stances and anxious expressions.

"What is going on?" he intoned, breaking the energy and the silence. All at once clamored with descriptions of the events inside the med-bay.

"Ratchet is counselling Ironhide and Chromia –" said Smokescreen.

" – he's taking a chance with those two –"

"- both have been fighting since last night –"

"- this will doom us all!" Gears complained, suddenly dispelling the chaos with his last words. Holding a hand up to control the situation, Optimus eased into the conversation with his piqued curiousity.

"So, Ratchet is counselling both Ironhide and Chromia?" he asked.

"Yessir. I have a feeling this could be bad for all of us. Chromia and Ironhide got into a fight last night, and were patching things up until this morning's announcement of counselling being given to all available 'bots, specifically them for couple's counselling," Bluestreak reported, stopping after Optimus held his hand up for a second time.

Deep inside his processor, Optimus calculated the fallout of this counselling session and the potential hazards from it. On the other hand, he mused, it would be good for them to work out their differences in a controlled environment. Optimus sighed to himself as he overheard a rather loud expletive from his friend inside the counselling room. He quickly weighed the pro's and con's of entering that forbidden hell but decided that the pro's outweighed in the end.

He stepped forward towards the medbay doors and ignored the comments that he was entering a 'No Return' zone. The doors shut behind the commander and the noise created by his soldiers was shut out but the pandimonium coming from Ratchet's office was louder then what was outside.

At this point Optimus could hear Chromia's shouting at not only Ironhide but at Ratchet as well. His curiosity was heightened when he heard her screaming at Ratchet to shut up and telling First Aid to stop writing. He couldn't allow any harm to come to his soldiers and knew very well that when Chromia was angry, everyone was liable to suffer physical damage.

He knocked twice on the office door and was ignored but the Autobots inside. Sighing, he knocked again, louder this time, and silence fell. He could hear Ratchet's chair moving as the older emch came to the office door. When Ratchet opened the door, Optimus could see the chaos beyond. The couch which had previously held the couple was now over turned with Chromia and Ironhide on either side. Ironhide looked relieved that Optimus had stopped the coming fight from his mate. Chromia just settled an icy look at the Prime.

"Optimus," Ratchet smiled, "what can I do for you? Is anything wrong?"

"Oh no, nothing is wrong. I was just curious why there was such a commotion coming from the medbay. Now that I see who is in here, I am not as surprised." This earned Optimus an indignent noise from the femme and a sheepish smile from Ironhide. "Well, I'll let you get back to the session," Optimus smiled at Chromia and began walking away.

"Wait!" Chromia shouted, stomping over to the larger mech. "Ironhide and I need your help," Chromia stated with crossed arms. Optimus looked over Chromia's shoulder and saw Ironhide giving him the silent signal to run away but Chromia interjected, "And don't look at him, I'm the one addressing you."

He snapped his optics back towards the authorative voice. He didn't want to argue with an angry femme and especially now in front of three other mechs. "What can I help you with?"

Chromia turned her head towards the CMO. "Ratchet, we need to see if we can get Elita on a line as well. I need both present for this decision."

"Why do we need her? Isn't Optimus enough?" Ironhide complained.

"YOU!" Chromia snapped her attention towards her mate, anger pooling deep in her optics, " don't _get_ a voice in THIS matter!"

"Why don't I get a voice in this matter? It's about the two of us, you always want a voice in every matter."

"Because I'm the reasonable one here. Every choice you make on your own about the two of us has almost led us to a disaster everytime."

"That's not true," Ironhide grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest, not to thrilled with the idea of _another _ femme being brought into this conversation.

"Um...Prime, can we?" Ratchet slowly looked away from Chromia and towards Optimus.

"I'll go ask Blaster," Optimus turned to go but was halted by Chromia's voice once more.

"No, Optimus, we can use the commlink to contact him. It is faster."

"I forgot," he tried a smile at the highly irritated femme but dropped it when it had no effect. Optimus activated his comlink and instantly got Blaster. "Blaster, I need a link to Cybertron from Ratchet's office. We need to contact Elita-One for an important matter."

"_Yes, Optimus." _

They waited a few minutes for Blaster to initate the contact. In the mean time Optimus and Ironhide righted the couch so all three could sit down and Ratchet took his place again. Optimus looked over at Ironhide and activated a private link.

"_Why is she so irritable right now? What did you do?" _Optimus asked his friend.

Ironhide stared at him, before shrugging and sending his own confused look. _"What did I do? Nothing, she's just getting herself worked up for nothing."_

"_What did you say?" _Optimus tried a new angle, hoping to fish out some mroe information form his comrade.

"_When?" _Ironhide asked bluntly, sounding ignorant.

Optimus mentally groaned at this and shuttered his optics. _"Before she was flustered like this."_

Ironhide gave him a sheepish grin and slowly retreated into his own form, replying in a slow voice. _"I told her that there was a good reason why you left her and the other femmes back on Cybertron."_

"_Ironhide, why?"_ Optimus sighed, sensing his own doom at the moment.

"_Femmes need to hear the truth, Optimus and I'm going to give it." _Ironhide huffed as he looked towards the ceiling.

Optimus closed the private communications link between them and waited for Elita-One to respond. He noticed that he was feeling rather excited but also apprehensive at hearing her voice. It had been to long since either of them were able to speak to one another and he was hoping the first time they could speak would be away from others. He never imagined speaking to her again in this type of situation.

As Optimus drifted far off into his own thoughts there was a beep that came from the controls on Ratchet's desk.

"Optimus, sir, your wife is on the line!" Blaster joyfully reported, using the human familiarisms for the lifemates. Cringing at the out of place joy, Optimus thanked the communications officer and readied himself for possibly the most uncomfortable conversation in his career.

Elita-One's face appeared on the hologram communicator device on the desk. Her face was serene as usual, greeting at the occupants with a small smile on her face. Optimus returned the favour with a smile hidden under his mask but Elita would know he was relieved to see her.

"Hello Elita-One," Ratchet said, breaking the uneasy tension inside the room. He was worried that his plan for payback was getting out of hand; involving Ironhide and Chromia was one thing, but involving his superiors was another. Especially for their strained relationship. He didn't want to ruin any chances of their romantic life after the war.

"Greetings, Ratchet. What is the nature of this call?" she inquired.

"We're conducting a counselling session for Ironhide and Chromia – " Elita's face balked at the suggestion, as if a bomb was going off – " and we need yours and Optimus' help at the moment. To settle a bet, so to speak."

"I... see," she replied with discomfort. The truth could be said with her answer: she didn't want any involvement but was already lured into the trap. "Can this wait? I have some other pressing matters to attend at the moment –"

"I'm afraid not," Optimus interjected. He felt himself regretting his actions and didn't want to follow through with this madness anymore. "It does concern us greatly, Elita. Just ten minutes is all I ask for."

"Minutes?" she inquired.

"A million milliseconds," Chromia filled in, answering her confused friend. Nodding, Elita-One gave her confirmation and stayed.

Ratchet's internal grin was turning into a full blown smile as the situation went from Ironhide and Chromia to involving Elita-1 and Optimus Prime. He was excited for the possibilities and outcome of this counselling session.

"Well?" Elita-1 asked, breaking Ratchet from his reverie.

"Don't ask me. Ask Chromia," he poited at the blue femme.

Chromia pursed her lips and crossed her arms, showing a displeased look on her face plates. She was having a hard time organizing the news to tell her best friend and commander.

"Remember when we were left on Cybertron four million years ago?" she started. Elita nodded and Chromia spoke again. "Ironhide told me that Optimus Prime left us there on purpose, with the intention that we were going to be distracting the mechs while they were on their journey."

Elita-1 was shocked, to say the least. She stared ahead at the mech of her dreams, suddenly seeing the pieces of the puzzle clicking together easily. Regarding the situation at the present while evaluating the past, she cleared her vocalizer before she inquired about why Optimus had done the act.

"Elita," Optimus began, "there were many factors in this matter that were not in my control. The risk of you being hurt or killed were high, and I couldn't risk that. As well, the decision of leaving the femmes on Cybertron was not made on a biased judgement; at the same time it was a very low factor for your uninvolvement. I just thought you and the femmes could protect Cybertron while I was gone, and that is a big responsibility – "

"Don't patronize me, Optimus Prime," Elita-1 spat. "What you did may have been good for some of your troops, but what about mine? A majority, if not all, had a sparkmate or friend who was aboard the Ark at the time. That decision of yours effectively destroyed some of the best warriors I had on my team. Our numbers were depleting due to stasis lock from the lack of energon. I was in charge of a losing team –"

"You had a team that you commanded effectively. Nobody else could have been prepared for the situation you were stuck in," Optimus tried to reassure his lover. Blue optics met blue optics, before Elita broke her gaze away and sighed.

"Oh Optimus," Elita shook her head, taking her eyes off of him. "I understand the protection of Cybertron to be important, you _don't_ have to remind me of that. My troops, however, would have survived a bit longer if they were dispersed amongst yours. The energon supply was not enough to sustain such a large force and _I_ had to watch them go into stasis-lock because of it."

"I know," Optimus said, remorse in his voice, "I'm sorry Elita. That was never my intention to have that happen to any of you."

"It happened and now it is behind us. For future reference, these decisions will be decided by the two of us, not just by one."

"I give you my word, Elita, that I will." Both gave the other a broken yet reassuring smile, trying to signify their love acroos the bond both shared.

Clasping his hands together, Ratchet broke the tension and smiled at them both. "Very good," Ratchet said. "Now that the subject is as settled as it will be, Optimus and Elita thank you for your time."

"Oh no! We're not finished yet!" Chromia interjected. "I have to know the reason why Ironhide sleep walks. One of you two know the answer and I want to know!" Stomping her right foot for emphasis, she glared hard at her mate and the occupants inside the room.

"I don't sleep walk," Ironhide grumbled, shrugging the accusation.

Chromia huffed and glowered at her spark mate. "Yes you do! You just always end up back in the berth before you wake up! So you never know!"

"Oh, and what do I do exactly in these sleepwalks?" Ironhide's voice grew in frequency, his fire for a fight growing with each passing second.

"You beat people up! Why, you punched Cliffjumper and Gears a few times three nights ago. They ended up in the medbay because of you."

"I was wondering what had happened to them," Ratchet murmured to himself.

Meanwhile, First Aid looked on at the session of his superiors. Each word that came out of their mouths helped to confirm the idea that he had been twirling around in his processor for a while; his superiors were screwed up. Not in any physical form, just emotionally and mentally; _especially_ Chromia and Ratchet.

"I didn't do that." Ironhide growled out.

"Yes you did! We can ask Red Alert for the security feeds from that night if you want. You even beat up Bluestreak. BLUESTREAK! That kid has done _nothing_ to deserve it."

"That was only once! I thought it was Smokescreen! Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak look too much alike." He crossed his arms to signify he was over with this battle.

"They have very different paintjobs!"

"It was dark!"

"It's _never_ dark where you attacked him. Maybe you're just going blind with old age. You should get Ratchet to check your optics. Might save you in the next battle, even Frenzy might be able to take you out," she muttered under her breath, making Ironhide all the more interested in what she was saying.

"Yeah? Well maybe you should get Ratchet to check your mental stability while your here! It seems to be going dowhill; don't wanna end up as insane as Starscream is, do we?"

"What?!" Chromia shrieked.

"You do sleepwalk!" Optimus blurted out, trying to stop another fistfight between the two 'love birds'.

"Ha! See Ironhide, I'm right and you are wrong. Now fess up to taking my high grade." Chromia pointed a finger at him, her accusatory mood not lessening with the support from her commander.

"When've you seen me sleepwalk Optimus?" Ironhide asked, ignoring Chromia in any further discussion.

"In the past. I've also spoken with you during your sleepwalking nights. I did not realize it at first but then I recognized that your speech pattern was not...the same. You were speaking as Mirage does and you also added in a few snorts during some sentences. You also walked down an opposite hall once, away from me, while you were still talking. I must say Ironhide, as confused as I was, it was very amusing to witness," Optimus explained, a very well pronounced grin behind his warmask.

"And you never tried to wake me up! How many others have seen me that way?"

"You mean excluding the mechs that you beat up?" came the blue femmes snide remark.

"Well, not everyone has seen you but everyone knows about your night walks. You don't honestly expect that Sideswipe would be keeping it to himself, do you?"

"Sideswipe saw me!"

"You beat him up as well." Chromia added.

"When? And why don't I know about that?"

"Because Sideswipe was confused at the time. He had asked you a simple question and you lashed out. Sad really, he was in a very happy mood that night. Everything that day had seemed to be going right for him." Ratchet responded as he leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable.

"Ironhide, how could you do that to Sideswipe? I know he can be a bit annoying with his pranks but he is a good mech overall." Elita said, chastising the red mech.

"I don't even remember it. What is this? Why are you all ganging up on me for? I didn't do anything...consciously."

"Alright. Now back to _my_ question. Why? Why does he do it?"

"Sleeping problems," Optimus answered with a shrug.

"That's it?" Chromia stared at Optimus with a disbelieving look.

"Yes and since you have been here, his sleep walks have gone down quite a bit."

"Now I just have to worry about being kicked in the middle of the night," Ironhide muttered.

"Shut up." Chromia slapped Ironhide's arm with her hand.

Ironhide crossed his arms and huffed to himself.

"Well if that was all, Elita, Optimus thank you for your time." Ratchet looked at his two superiors with a smile.

"You're welcome. Take care, all fo you. Optimus, hopefully in the future we can speak with each other," Elita nodded to the responses and the holo-screen faded from her departure. Optimus was quick to take his leave after Elita had left; he did not want to be pulled into another lover's quarrel. He would leave that to the two medics.

"Well, I have nothing else to say," Ironhide shrugged. He was ready to leave and drink some high-grade; he had heard from Mirage that Sideswipe worked out a deal with his contacts and scored some expensive high grade.

"Chromia, do you have anything else you would like to share?" Ratchet looked towards the femme

"No," she replied offhandedly.

"Are you sure?" He pressed.

"Positive."

Giving himself a high-five for a session well done, Ratchet was preparing to kick them out of his office and go back to relaxing. "Alright then, this session is over. Ironhide, Chromia-"

"He wants too much sex," Chromia interrupted.

"Pardon?" Ratchet had to do a double take on her statement. First Aid just covered half of his face.

"He wants too much sex. I understand a moderate amount but four times in one night almost evey night is not comprehensive to my processors as to why he needs it so much."

"I haven't had another spark bonding with you for four million years and possibly not for a long time when you have to leave again."

"Chromia, mechs tend to express their close feelings to their mates during spark bonding sessions. This is how Ironhide shows it to you. Also with that fact that he hasn't had it in four million years like he said and the feeling of having it again is nice." Ratchet was trying to give a show of this was ouut of his hands. "That, or you could go to sleep in another, empty barrack."

"Sleep, especially undisturbed sleep, is also a great luxury."

"Well I don't see a big problem here. You two should work out a schedule of sorts for this," Ratchet said. Turning to his old friend, he gave him a chastising look. "Ironhide, I do agree with Chromia. Four times every night isn't a feasible idea."

"How about once every night?" Ironhide proposed

"No," Chromia crossed her arms. "Five nights per week only. Once a night. Maybe twice if I have the energy."

"Aww-" Ironhide started into one of his complaints but Ratchet decided that First Aid had heard enough sexual content between his two superiors.

"Ironhide, you heard her. Five times a week, possibly twice a night. Both of you, this session is over and I thank you for your time."

"No problem Ratchet," Chromia gave a victorious smile as she left the office, a somewhat displeased mech in her tow.

"So, did you get the information down First Aid?"

"Uh..." First Aid looked down at his data pad. Hardly anything had been written on it. He had been to caught up in the fights and akward conversations to actually catch anything of any importance. "I believe I will be spending the next few weeks trying to forget about Ironhide and Chromia's...sexual habits."

Ratchet gave a boisterous laugh at his apprentice's statement. "Don't worry First Aid, you'll meet many more with these types of situations in the future. This is only the beginning."

"Joy," First Aid mumbled as he looked down at the useless information.


	14. Author's note

Hello all. We're sorry we have not updated in a very long time and probably not until the summer. Hopefully we can get another chapter up. We have three more sessions to go and then it is on to the second part of the exam. Group therapy 


	15. Session 09 Smokescreen

Instead of the torture finishing after the couple from the Pit session, Ratchet told First Aid to call in Smokescreen. Apparently, he owed Ratchet a considerable debt (and First Aid didn't know the number well but figured the medic had a vendetta). First Aid was very disturbed by the secrets revealed during the therapy session, although Ratchet was enjoying it and seemed nonchalant about the private confessions.

"Smokescreen," First Aid called. "Please come down to the med bay for your therapy session."

Apparently luck was not with the medical staff that day. "Can't. Got some reports to give to Prime about the new plans he has for the rocket launch," Smokescreen said, trying to weasel his way out.

Ratchet clucked his vocalizer in annoyance. He apparently knew the answer before First Aid could give it to him. If that was the way Smokescreen wanted to play, he would match it.

"If you don't come," Ratchet grounded out, "I will release the video the night you we doing impersonations of the officers. I do have evidence and I'm not going to be gentle about giving it to Blaster."

Smokescreen chuckled, the sound low and gravelly in his voice. "I'd like to see you try," he murmured.

"Just watch me," Ratchet replied, turning off his comm. and walking towards his desk. Reaching inside, he pulled out a disc that First Aid recognized as one that was used to spy on the Special Ops team. First Aid sucked in air sharply through his vents.

"Are you actually going to use it, boss?" he asked, trying to not tread on his superior's treads.

Ratchet grinned and casually flipped the disc in his left hand. "I'm a bot of my word."

In several seconds, they heard a loud rapping on the doors of the med bay. First Aid turned towards the doors and asked who it was.

"Smokescreen, reporting for his therapy session," the bot said, sounding out of breath.

"Speak of the devil," Ratchet said as he pressed the button to open the doors. He gave Smokescreen his trademarked smirk. "I knew you would see it my way. Good job."

Smokescreen gave the medbay a once over with his optics. He looked for cameras and other recording devices, but didn't find anything except the camera installed by Red Alert. Crap. He walked over to where Ratchet was lounging in his chair, right arm outstretched to grab the disc away.

"Ah-ah-ah," Ratchet warned, pulling the disc away from Smokescreen's reach and wagging his right index finger at him. "After the session, you get this back. One full hour for a lifetime of humiliation and annoyance that can be deleted."

Smokescreen's doorwings flared back slightly at the prospect of giving one full hour to this brilliant but slightly twisted medic. He wanted to argue that so far the only one out of all the sessions he had had that gave him one complete hour was Jazz but decided against it; after all it was this twisted medic that held the humiliating recording in his hands. Those flared doorwings drooped and Smokescreen nodded in resignation, taking his place at the seat Ratchet waved him to. He grimaced slightly with irritation at the clearly smug expression on Ratchet's faceplates.

"Now, we can begin," the CMO said, his grin growing as Smokescreen tried to make his poker face.

First Aid looked at Smokescreen for a few seconds, trying to straighten out his questions towards this elusive mech and decided to start off with an oldie and goodie. "Smokescreen, how do you feel?"

Smokescreen gave the young medic a disarming smile that spoke of the diversionary tactics officer's own personal amusement. "Well besides being blackmailed by our CMO, I'm feeling fine. I'm just a little tired from doing all of those reports and I'm not looking forward to going back to a pile of them that I had hoped to have finished by the end of today." Smokescreen directed this last comment at Ratchet but continued to stare at First Aid.

"Oh, shut up Smokescreen. Stop grousing and just do your damn session, stop trying to get a rise out of me," Ratchet grumbled while scratching at an imaginary mark on his desk.

Smokescreen chuckled at Ratchet, "Fine. I'm feeling fine First Aid. Not a thing to worry about."

"Oh really?" First Aid perked up at this, a smile forming on the young mech's face that made Smokescreen a bit uneasy, although he'd never show it. "I have noticed that you have been losing sleep for the past few vorns. You are up at odd hours, working with Prowl, Jazz and Optimus Prime on something that is kept from the rest of us."

Before Smokescreen could interrupt, First Aid was continuing with his tirade. "You also seem to be feigning a relaxed attitude. I say this because when you are truly relaxed you have this slump in your posture while sitting and while speaking you stare right at the mech you are speaking with. Now, however, you sit upright as if you are on the alert. The last party Sideswipe threw I also noticed that you did not participate in the usual drinking games against the twins. As well, when you speak to others you are scanning the room."

Smokescreen seemed surprised at the medic's perceptiveness and shifted slightly, a sign to Ratchet that the officer was getting a bit nervous. Ratchet smirked at Smokescreen, pride shining in his optics at his apprentice's observations. "So you've been watching me?"

Smokescreen had to admit the newbie had good observational skills, a sign of a good card player. He was surprised to see that First Aid also good judgement on body language, which he should improve to get to Prowl's level, but Smokescreen was certainly better than Bluestreak. At least it didn't change with every thought that flickered through his CPU.

"No more than the others. So will you still tell me that everything is alright?" First Aid smiled, he knew that he had the officer in a corner.

"Well-"

First Aid cut the officer off, deciding to take a 'Ratchet approach' to this session; he knew there would be no other way. "I have also heard about your gambling problem. You owe a substantial debt to Ratchet, if you are wondering how I know. We should talk about that."

"No, I don't have a problem. It's just a pass time and it only becomes a problem when the person can't stand to be away from it for to long. I can stand being away from it for a while."

"The temptation is still there Smokescreen. Remember when you gambled away the money to save the other Autobot's from the fighting rings? You had more than enough with a little left over but you wanted to continue playing for the thrill. We are not angry because we understand that the temptations of gambling have a strong hold on you. It needs to be dealt with Smokescreen and that is what we are going to try and do now."

Smokescreen looked at Ratchet for help, a pleading and helpless look in the mech's optics but he would find no help from the red and white medic. Ratchet nodded in agreement with his apprentice and shared the same sincere concern as the younger did.

"Oh come on, it was a onetime thing. It won't happen again."

"We don't know if it would. What started it?"

"I just like it." Smokescreen shrugged.

"Do you like winning the money? Is that the reason you continue?"

"No, I get more than enough money from my position in the military. I just like the thrill and chance of it all. I like winning but not because of the money, it's more for the fact that I won."

"Why do you like that feeling?"

"I get a feeling of fulfillment from it."

"When did you start gambling?"

"I guess when I was able to get into the casinos...but I did small time stuff with some friends when we were younger. We didn't play with money, just for fun, but I suppose that's when I started to get hooked. Playing with money was just a bonus, but it wasn't a bonus I got addicted to."

"Don't you find excitement and fulfillment in your current job?" First Aid asked, a bit curious on this subject.

"Sometimes, when I actually get to plan something before or during 'Con attacks, but usually I'm pretty bored. Most of the time I'm just reading, talking with my friends or going on treks with either Hound or Trailbreaker. Those things keep me occupied but it doesn't give me that thrill that I need. Well...sometimes those treks do but most of the time they are pretty tame. I only gamble once in a blue moon," Smokescreen shrugged.

Ratchet snorted at this and laughed to himself, shaking his head and writing something down on his data pad. Smokescreen glared a little at the CMO before turning to First Aid with a neutral gaze.

"Once in a blue moon?" First Aid repeated. Smokescreen nodded and the medic shook his head, picking up a data pad from the desk and scrolling through the list. "This," First Aid leaned over to hand the data pad to Smokescreen, "is a list of the times you gambled with people where Ratchet was included and as you can see it is not a 'once in a blue moon' type of list."

Smokescreen was baffled that Ratchet would keep a list of the times they gambled in the rec. room. He huffed slightly when he realized that First Aid was very prepared for this session. It angered him slightly that Ratchet had done this. His optics moved to look at the medic, the anger clear in them.

"So," Smokescreen looked up fully, throwing the data pad down on the desk, "I've played a few more times than I admitted to but that does not make it a problem."

"Addicts usually bounce from different stages. You went from denial to anger."

"I wasn't in denial and I'm not angry." Smokescreen knew it was a lie when it passed out of his lips but he could not stop himself from saying it. He was angry and he was even angrier that First Aid was pushing him through steps used for addicts. He stood up to leave but as quickly as he did so, Ratchet held up the disk containing the harmful information and quickly sat his aft back on the chair.

First Aid's hand clasped his head, holding it up like it was a boulder on his body."You are still in between the stages. Smokescreen, why can you not just see that you do have a problem? It isn't like we'll take gambling away completely, but you might find something else to do instead of gambling so much." First Aid sighed.

"I told you, I'm not addicted to the gambling. I'm addicted to the thrill and fulfillment I get from winning. Nothing else here can compare to it." He grinned at the two medics, finding their unreadable expressions hilarious. Perhaps he had struck gold and made them stupefied to even search for an answer.

"Why not helping Wheeljack? I assure you that you will find thrill in there." Ratchet smirked. He knew that the scientist was requiring help these days, but nobody was willing to volunteer. The help required would include tampering with explosive materials as Wheeljack was trying to make a new anti-grav machine.

Finding himself between a rock and a hard place, Smokescreen was considering the offer before realizing what it would entail. "I...hmph," Smokescreen crossed his arms and huffed.

First Aid looked down at his data pad, trying to figure out what activity there was where Smokescreen could find the same type of thrill and fulfillment that was inside Prime's and Prowl's regulation list.

"Wheeljack's lab would be a good option but it does not give the same fulfillment," Smokescreen muttered as he regarded Ratchet. He noticed that both medics held the same thoughtful expression on their faceplates.

Smokescreen looked at his internal chronometer and was happy to see that forty minutes had passed. He knew both were just trying to help him but nothing else could take the place of gambling. He let out a sigh and slumped a little.

"Smokescreen, what if you tried taking up a hobby? Like one of the human sports," First Aid offered hopefully. "There is football...or rugby, I believe the twins are trying to put two teams together for tomorrow. You might find something in there, especially if the Dynobots decide to play."

"Primus give me strength," both heard Ratchet muttered tiredly to himself as he bent over the data pad.

Smokescreen grinned at the comment, knowing all-too-well the reply. "I already have. Got a couple on both teams, cant' interfere or else the betting pool would go sour because of personal involvement." He watched and Ratchet was giving him a Transformer version of the Evil Eye.

First Aid was exasperated. "What do you suggest then, Ratchet?"

"The next game is being held in three Earth weeks," he explained. "There are no bets on it, nor will there be, by you Smokescreen. Because, like it or not Mary-fraggin-Sunshine, you are going to be participating in it. Not only that game – " he pointed at Smokescreen "- but you're going to be in the next five games. Under medical orders. Disobey that and I'll see to it personally that you get to rally-drive to California and back in one day."

Smokescreen stared at his dumbly, his mouth slightly open. "You can't do that," he whispered. "I'm already wanted in California after hitting that bear last year."

"Then I suggest you use stealth and a good GPS system to get your way around," Ratchet smirked. He got him now.

Tired of the therapy session turned Decepticon Interrogation, Smokescreen got up from his chair and headed to the door. He stopped at the door and turned to face Ratchet.

"You will delete that, right? One full hour done, now get rid of it." He left the room in a bittersweet mood, bitter for him, but sweet for Ratchet.

First Aid turned to around to Ratchet and asked, "Will you delete all that evidence?"

Ratchet tilted his head back and guffawed. After heaving and clearing his vocalizer, he turned to his apprentice. "First Aid," he said calmly, "if Smokescreen was a smart mech, he would have asked to see the contents of this disc. Secondly, nobody can tell the different between a full record and a blank disk from his distance."

If it weren't for the visor and face mask, First Aid would've look like he was shot. "Are you really serious?! You brought him in on false evidence?"

Ratchet shrugged. "Believe me; it happens more than once a week."


	16. Authors Note!

Hello readers,

We are sorry that we have not updated for a while but school and personal matters have kept us quite busy. We are planning on making a few more chapters on private counselling. We will be making a chapter for Silverbolt and Grapple. After these chapters we will be moving on to 'Group Work', this will include Ratchet in these group discussions and charades will be used as well. Hopefully my sister and I can co-ordinate our schedules to match and write more on this story. We really do want to update it soon but there has been no time between either of us. We are sorry but hopefully there will be a new chapter up soon.

Ratchets Angels


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